


Freaky Love

by Yoru_The_Rogue



Series: DC Yoru'verse: The Guen Trilogy [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman: Fear Itself (novel), Batman: The Animated Series, The Batman (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, First in a trilogy, Gen, I'm working on making meta posts for my DC headcanon 'verse, Multi, My First Fanfic, My OCs, Not Beta Read, OC-centric, OC-heavy, POV Alternating, Personal Headcanon 'Verse, The DC Yoru-Verse, also called 'The Freaky Saga' by my friends, and this entire fic is getting a meta of its own, major canon-blending, my friends' OCs, ocxcanon, oldest work, recreation attempt of the Well-Rounded Mary-Sue Project, reviews not needed, so if you'd rather read the meta than the actual fic, technically the first fic after 5 years of not writing, then I highly recommend you just read the meta because it'll be better, this story is honestly a mess, will edit here and there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-20
Updated: 2010-10-13
Packaged: 2019-06-20 07:13:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 93,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15528975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yoru_The_Rogue/pseuds/Yoru_The_Rogue
Summary: Guenhivyre Pendragon was a fairly normal young woman with a dark past and a few secrets-until the Scarecrow kidnaps her and she starts a life of crime. On the way, she starts to remember her past and gain new, yet dangerous friends.[[My first ever fanfic for Batman: the Animated Series, my favorite TV series growing up.Yes, I did intend to start it out with my OC being a bit of a Mary-Sue. But don't worry, she evolves far beyond that as the story progresses. After all, this fanfiction was started with the intention of recreating the "Well-Rounded Mary-Sue" project with my own twist on it. For the most part, enjoy (even if I cringe when I go through and re-read it.)]]





	1. Guenhivyre Pendragon

Bruce Wayne was—quite literally—stuck in the middle of a charity party for the Gotham Central Library’s new wing when he heard the news.  Well, when _everyone_ heard the news, seeing as it’s next to impossible to shut up a plasma screen television mounted on the wall and cranked up to maximum volume.  Summer Gleeson, the news reporter, popped onscreen abruptly, with a special news bulletin, she said.

“The Gotham City Police have just informed me that there has been a breakout at Arkham Asylum.  The two inmates that escaped are a teenaged girl identified only as “Stitches”, along with none other than the Joker.  Residents are advised to keep indoors as the police continue the search!  We now go live to—“

The rest of her words were cut off by a collective gasp from the crowd, followed by an outburst of worried chatter and gossip about what all just heard.  Bruce’s eyebrows knitted together in a frown and his mouth became a grim, taut line.  The Joker, the clown prince of crime, was as insane and deadly as one gets, not to mention he’d appointed himself the mantle of Batman’s archenemy.  No one knew who he was, where he came from, or why he’d become so mad; all they really did know was that they couldn’t identify him, as his fingerprints and other forms of DNA identification had somehow been burned off or the like thereof, that he had absolutely no living family whatsoever, and that he never seemed to care about money or stealing: everything he did, every crime he committed, was all one big game to him, and he did everything for the sole purpose of fighting Batman.  He’d even stated he didn’t want to kill Batman—anytime soon, that is—because without him, the Joker said he’d be bored, that he wouldn’t be able to have fun anymore.

A picture of the two escaped inmates flashed across the TV screen.  One, Bruce knew by heart and would probably never forget, as the Joker was the stuff of nightmares.  The other, he didn’t know or if he did, he knew the face only vaguely.  The girl was about 15, if his guess was correct, with a mess of hair that fell over her left eye, and a wide smile full of sharp teeth that had been filed down to points.  And yet, something about her held a look of sadness, as though there was something that kept her in a perpetual state of mourning, though what, he had no clue.

_Great.  He’s broken out of Arkham again, and he’s found another wounded person to manipulate. I wonder how my day could get any worse._ Bruce thought, mentally and physically grinding his teeth.

It was at that very moment that someone carrying a tray laden with goblets of red raspberry wine tripped and lost her balance, the alcoholic liquid splashing all over and soaking the heir to the Wayne empire from head to Armani loafers.

He took that moment to reflect on the sheer stupidity and irony that was always brought about by the use of that last phrase and resolved not to use it when he was out on his “night job” ever.

However, Bruce always had a habit of bouncing back when it came to this sort of thing, especially when there was a woman involved.  And this time, she was really cute.  The vandal who’d ruined his second best set of Armani’s was about five feet and four inches tall, with neatly kept, shoulder-length black hair, startling green eyes, and was dressed in the halter top-and-kilt get-up that was the standard of the employees who worked in the Scotsman’s Hotel.

“Oh my gosh!  I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Wayne!  I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to live with myself, I just ruined your suit and your shoes and now Mr. Scotsman is totally going to fire me and I’ve got you completely soaked! I’m so so sooooo sorry, can I do anything for you?  Oh my gosh, where are the towels?! I—“

Bruce held up his hand for silence and to his amazement, she complied.

_Good lord, the girl talks like a speeding train_ , was what went through his mind.  Out loud he said, “Look, it’s fine.  It’s no big deal, Ms.--?”

“P-Pendragon.  Guenhivyre Pendragon.” She stammered, paling.

“Guenhivyre Pendragon,” he repeated, looking surprised, “As in, the queen of King Arthur?”

She nodded fervently, her mouth hidden behind her hands and her eyes wide as she trembled under the gaze of what was becoming quite an audience.  Bruce smiled his playboy smile.

“For that, consider yourself forgiven,” he said, pressing a fifty into her hand and giving her a wink, “Just go fetch a couple towels, okay?  In return, I’ll make sure Mr. Scotsman overlooks this little incident.”

Blinking with shock and relief that she’d been let off the hook, Guenhivyre Pendragon nodded and took off in a flash, returning only a few minutes later with the towels and rapidly mumbling words of apology.  Despite her fast talk, the look on her face, not to mention red flushed cheeks, and the words she said proved to Bruce Wayne that she was sincere.  He would have asked her out on a date, had she not disappeared almost instantly after he was dry again.  He allowed himself a small smile.

She’d taken his mind off the Joker, but only to throw it back onto the fact that women were still harder to battle with than his enemies.  Because with women, it was a completely different playing field.


	2. Nygma and Tetch

Guenhivyre Pendragon could only thank her lucky stars that the incident at the hotel had been, as Mr. Wayne had promised, conveniently overlooked.  And it was a good thing she’d moved fast too; she’d heard that such encounters with Bruce Wayne meant the girl would end up in his little black book if he had a chance to suck out her phone number.

_I don’t need that sort of crud on my plate right now_ , she told herself as she buckled her seat belt and shut the car door.  She turned the keys and after a few coughs, the old T-bird’s engine turned, purring like a cat.  She backed out of the driveway and drove off, her habitual routine guiding her as her current worries clouded her thoughts.  It was true, she didn’t have time for romance, especially with Gotham’s most sought-after bachelor.  Besides he was what, twenty-six?  And here she was, nineteen and with a full schedule.  When she wasn’t working at Scotsman’s Hotel, she was at college.  And when she wasn’t in class, she was studying and trying to make order of the dorm room she shared.  When she wasn’t trying to make order, she was busy taking care of her needs.

And when she wasn’t taking care of her needs, she was at Arkham Asylum.

No, no!  Not as an inmate.  Having excelled even the abnormal learning in her Criminal Psychology Class, she’d made a request of her teacher that once a week, she be allowed to go to the asylum and observe the inhabitants.  At first, her professor had refused.  But after a lot of pleading and some perfect test scores, she’d relented and the two of them put in Guen’s request to Arkham.

Which had been immediately turned down.

It was too dangerous, she’d been told.  All those criminals in one spot, and she, a young, sweet, trusting college student?  No way that was going to happen!  The asylum absolutely refused, calling the notion too risky, not wanting to be held accountable for anything that might happen to her while she was there.

But Guenhivyre Pendragon was not one to be dismissed so easily.

She’d written protests, essays, letters, begged the district attorney, the mayor even, and after a lot of butting heads, Dr. Avery at Arkham agreed to let her come for one visit the nearest Wednesday, just to see how things went.  He had expected that she would come, see for herself exactly what she would be exposed to, and immediately withdraw her request.  But that hadn’t happened.

Right from the start, things were in Guen’s favor.  Almost from the second she set foot in the place, the guards later on said that the inmates had gone slightly more quiet, coming down from their normal din to almost an atmosphere appropriate to the indoors.  When Guen had gone and walked through the halls on tour with Dr. Avery to see the inmates, the bizarre behavior of the villains increased, all of them falling to a soft hush and staring at the girl with curious expressions.  Thus, afterward, she came to visit every Wednesday, the security and staff always reporting that her very presence there seemed to bring out some more peaceful and human behavior from the detainees.

This time she seemed to reach the asylum in minimum time, her speed surprising even her.

A guard stopped her at the entrance gates, requesting her ID, as always.  She handed it over with a sheepish sort of guilt, not meeting his eyes.  Her ID had one major inaccuracy: it stated her age to be twenty-three years old.  She never seemed to have been called on for it though, as she normally conducted herself like an older woman, so all the staff were convinced it was her true age.  After the sentry had grunted his approval at her ID and seen her pass, the gates creaked open, swinging inward to admit her.  She drove on through, up the rest of the gravel driveway and parked in one of the few empty spaces left in the parking lot.  Before heading in, she double checked that her car doors were locked and the windows were rolled up completely, and pulled a long, blonde wig out of her backseat.  Firstly, if the Joker had escaped, she wasn’t going to leave her Thunderbird completely vulnerable to theft in the event some other villain managed the same feat, and second, she used the wig as part of a means of disguise, should one of the inmates ever escape and come looking for her.

The side door was already unlocked and opened for her, another sentinel waiting at the entrance to guide her to Dr. Avery’s office.  She didn’t really need to have an escort, she knew the way by heart now, but Avery insisted upon it for “security reasons”.

_Paranoid old freak in charge of a house full of ‘em_ , she thought, not for the first time and certainly not for the last.  She was led into the office, where she was given the usual lecture of how the asylum was not going to be held responsible for anything that might happen to her, she was here of her own decision, blah-blah, blah-blah, blah-blah, _blah-blah_!  Not to mention the fact they were now under heightened measures of security, since the Joker had escaped.

“You can stay home today, if you like.” Fenton Avery offered, though Guen wasn’t sure if he was trying to get rid of her or not.  According to some of the regular security guards, the last time that she’d skipped her weekly Wednesday visit, the majority of the prisoners went almost ballistic, demanding to know why she wasn’t there, and if it was because Avery was keeping her from visiting them.  She doubted he wanted to really give them any more reason to wish for his head on a spit.

“Not a chance, doctor.  I’ve got some criminals to visit.  Don’t want to make them anxious now, do I?” she asked, arching one slender eyebrow.  Fenton Avery sighed, his head in his hands.

“No, I don’t suppose so.  Very well, you may proceed,” he relented, sounding both relieved and exasperated.  And with that, she left the office and went on her merry way to the cell halls, eager to see some of her subjects.  Thankfully, the sentries were used to her by now, and did not question her presence there, nor did they seem to notice the bulge of the hidden object in her suit pocket, slightly above her skirt.

Her flat-soled shoes clapped on the tile floor, and at the sound, different faces appeared at different cell doors, greeting her in a friendly way as she passed.  One even complimented her new black suit, and not in a lewd manner either.  She walked on for a while, greeting all the inmates she passed in a kind manner, as well as the guards, who seemed to let her cheerfulness rub off on them.  Finally, she came to a halt at one particular cell door.

“This is still Edward Nygma’s cell, I presume.” she stated to the sentinal standing outside it.  He seemed surprised that she phrased it as a statement rather than a question, but nodded all the same.

“My name is Guenhivyre Pendragon.  I wish to see him, please.”  she rattled off in a bored monotone, and he nodded once more, sticking a key in the lock of the door, jiggling it a little, before pushing the door inward.

“Edward! A guest for you!” he snapped in a gruff voice as Guen stepped in.  The man known as the Riddler looked up from the book in his hands and at the sight of her, he smiled crookedly.

“Guenhivyre, it’s a pleasure to see you as always! You know, you’re almost late.  I was wondering if you were running behind your normal schedule.” he said in a voice that was genuine and excited.  He looked like a kid getting to see his favorite uncle at Thanksgiving.  Guen returned his smile warmly.  She and Eddie shared a love of puzzles and riddles, and she viewed him as an older brother as much as he did her a sister.

“Got any new ones for me to solve, Eddie?” she asked by way of greeting.  The Riddler shut his riddle book, and looked her in the eye mischieviously, pointing at the chair near his cot as indication for her to take a seat.  She complied, crossing her legs and folding the fingers of her hands together.

“You’ll like this one.  Black within and red without, with four corners roundabout.  What is it?” he said in his mysterious tone of voice, brushing back locks of his long black hair.

“Hmm, you’ll have to allow me some thinking time on that one.” she replied, and fished the object out of her pocket that was causing it to bulge.  It turned out to be a rubix cube, but three times the size of a normal one, and all the little squares were either black or white.  She tossed it to Nygma, who caught it at the last second, fumbling a little.

“I had that specially made for you.  Want to see if you can solve it in the time it takes me to figure out your riddle?” Guen suggested, and Eddie nodded fervently, grinning like a fox.  He loved puzzles, and the more complicated and challenging, the better.  He immediately set to work on the rubix cube, his fingers flying as he snapped it this way and that, while Guen steepled her fingers and thought.  After a few long moments of silence, her face brightened and she snapped her fingers.  The Riddler was halfway to solving the cube when her snapping fingers distracted him.

“Figure it out yet?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“It’s a chimney!” she said triumphantly.  “The answer is a chimney!”

Eddie grinned even wider.  “Correct.  You’re getting faster.”

Guen’s eyes went to the rubix cube.  “And you’re getting slower, my friend.  Or is it just taking you that long?”

“Oh, ha ha.  A million laughs,” he said sarcastically, returning his stare to the cube as though it was a particularly persistent cockroach, “No, you’d think since there are only two colors, it would take me less time than normal, but even so, this isn’t a normal cube.”  He looked at her, blue eyes glittering with suspicion.  “You’ve added some hidden element to it, haven’t you?  Some riddle within the puzzle for me to figure out.”

“Oh, no!  You’ve pegged me!” she said, dramatically pretending to swoon, then chuckling as she went on, “Yes, I have.  Happy Birthday, Edward.  Don’t tell me you forgot.”

“Ha ha, I’m afraid I did! But thank you all the same,” he responded, his features showing that he felt touched by her thoughtfulness, “It means a lot to me.”

“Well, I’m glad you like it.  And you’re welcome.  But I have to be going now.  I have other…patients to see to.” Guen said, rising from the chair.

“Other freaks, you mean.” Edward said pleasantly, unbothered by the label he placed on himself and the other inmates as a whole as he turned over the rubix cube.

“Yeah, some of the freakier freaks.” she said with a shrug, and with that, she knocked on the door and the guard let her out, shutting the cell and locking it behind her.  She smiled happily.  She always felt better after talking to Eddie.  Somehow, he seemed the least insane of all the prisoners in the asylum, and she always heard at the end of the week that his behavior continued to improve the more he saw her on her visits.  In fact, Dr. Avery suggested that if his compliance should continue and Nygma should go clean, he may in fact be let out early and become a member of society again.

If he continued to meet the terms.

She mulled over those happy ideas in her head as she wandered down the halls.  To think, that her influence might help someone come back into society with a clean record!  It was an enormously good thing, though why, she had no clue.  She had wandered for maybe a minute, before one of the guards reached out to stop her.  She pulled out of reach of his hand just in time.  He had gotten too close to her shoulder and that was _not good_.

“Begging your pardon, Ms. Pendragon.  I just wanted to ask if you’d give him a visit,” he jerked his thumb toward the door behind him, “He’s been talking about seeing you nonstop since this morning.”

Guen raised her eyebrows, then brought them together in a frown.  She didn’t like seeing Jervis Tetch.  The guy gave her the creeps.  Still, she couldn’t refuse a request.  She nodded in a resolved manner, and the guard unlocked the door, pulling it wide open so she could step inside.  The man on the cot leaped to his feet at her arrival, his face splitting in a wide grin, revealing his horse-like row of top teeth that jutted out in a massive overbite.  He bowed low, sweeping off his enormous top hat, revealing his shaggy mess of blonde hair.

“Miss Pendragon! Oh, frabjuous day!  Calloo, callay!” he exclaimed, posing dramatically.  “What a pleasure to see you it is!  If only those barbarians pacing outside would allow me to make some tea, I would invite you to share some with me.  But alas, such an unmerry unbirthday!”  Then he looked her in the eye and she shuddered at what she saw.

Jervis Tetch was a former scientist, with such an obsession over Lewis Carroll’s _Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking-Glass_ , that he couldn’t always differentiate between fantasy and reality.  He had finally gone over the cuckoo’s nest, setting himself up as a self-styled Mad Hatter, and developed a mind-controlling technology, the master control piece being in his 10/6 card tucked in the band around his top hat.  According to his profile, he also suffered from sexual repression, having first used his mind control to kidnap a co-worker he’d developed feelings toward and forced her to fall in love with him.  He had of course, been thwarted by the Batman, and was none too pleased with that fact.

And it was times like these, when Guenhivyre was alone in Tetch’s cell with him, that she had learned to despise the blonde wig she’d thought was such a great idea before.  Mustering up as much courage as she could, she forced out a polite response.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again too, Mr. Tetch.” she tried to honey-coat it as best she could, while mentally she added, _As much as it is when I’ve got to visit a dentist for cavities_.

“Just call me Jervis, Miss Pendragon.  And I’m absolutely thrilled that you feel that way, my dear!  Please, sit!” He took her hand gently and led her to the seat, gesturing for her to sit.  Gentlemanly though his manner and kind his outward expressions and speech, Guen saw a glint in his eyes that she didn’t like, as it sent shivers down her spine.

“Did anyone ever tell you about the resemblance you bear to Alice, my dear Miss Pendragon?”  he asked, taking a seat on his cot and resting his elbows on his knees while he folded his fingers together so his chin could rest on them.

Yeah, that was creepy.  The kind of creepy that sent shivers _up_ her spine as well as down it.

“Just you, Jervis.” she responded.

“Tell me, doesn’t it fascinate you?  Do you remember the Mock Turtle’s song?” he asked, then promptly hopped up from his seat and began to twirl somewhat like a drunk man as he sang, “Will you, won’t you?  Will you, won’t you?”

She watched in morbid fascination, as he pirouetted and extended a hand to her.

“Won’t you join the dance?”

She was tempted to go along with him, to placate him for the time being, but when she looked him in the eye, there was still that glint there, that ice behind the warm exterior.

“Is this some new form of harassing me, Tetch?” she spat out savagely, knocking his hand away.  The smile left the Mad Hatter’s face and his features went into a distinctive scowl, though his voice remained as gentle as it had before.

“You insult me, my dear.  I would never dream of offending you in such a manner.”  he said, nearly scoffing at her.

“Well, I take that look to be harassment.  And I would suggest that if you want me to stop being so cold to you, you find some new way to approach me, instead of using the same act that you tried on someone else.”  Guen said, a little more gently this time, folding her arms over her chest and meeting his stare.

“Oh really?” Jervis said softly, glaring at her.

“Yes, and now, I really must be going.” she murmured, as she stood and knocked on the cell door once more.  Suddenly, she felt his hand on her back, just below her shoulders, examining the strange raised parts of her back underneath her suit jacket.  She gave a yelp and jumped away just in time as the guard threw open the door at her sound.  She glanced backward to see Jervis Tetch looking at his gloved hand, murmuring something that sounded like “Fascinating!”

Then he looked her in the eye and smiled coldly.

_He knew!_

“Have a very merry unbirthday, beautiful Miss Pendragon!” he called after her softly as the cell door swung shut.


	3. The Scarecrow's Escape

Out of all the inmates at Arkham Asylum, the only two who had the top level of security placed on them were the Joker and Jonathan Crane, otherwise known as the Scarecrow.  Though two completely different extremes in their _modi operandi_ , they were the most dangerous, most insane, most clever, and the best escape artists in the entire asylum.  No matter how many times his security was heightened, the Joker always found new ways to escape, usually on the fly when he spotted an opening of sorts that he could use to his advantage.

Jonathan Crane scoffed at that.  He too, was always being put under higher security, mostly for the fact that he sometimes pointed out the openings to the Joker from across the hall, but also for the fact that his escapes had no real pattern, and the asylum wanted him under total surveillance 24/7.  The two men quite literally had no privacy, their walls that faced outward being completely Plexiglas without a door.  The only way in was by a code entered through keypad on the wall, which allowed the Plexiglas to slide open just a margin to allow someone in.  And while the Joker kept his eye out for small things to use to his advantage, the Scarecrow spent his time observing and planning.  That was the beauty of it, that he spent several meticulous hours planning and planning his escapes.  Not that he didn’t admire the Joker for being able to fly by the seat of his pants with his getaways, as were the idiom, but it simply wasn’t Crane’s style.

Today had been rather uneventful.  He had spent the early hours of the morning painstakingly setting up his minute hologram projector on top of his bookshelf, perhaps the one luxury he was allowed.  The hologram projector was a thing of beauty, as was his method having acquired it.  One of his men had answered the call to a faulty metal chair in the asylum’s Inquiry/Visitation room needing repair, and when no one was looking, had designed a tiny panel on the back of the seat, into which he’d slipped the technology.  Last time it had been a doorknob the man had set up, though the Batman had seen through that eventually, and now the knobs were transparent.  But there was always a way when it came to Jonathan Crane.  Even with the handcuffs, he’d been able to secure devices, and it merely looked like he was playing sick games with his hands, twisting them out of place.

Having a completely double-jointed body had its uses.  This was just one of them.  Throw in the fact his hyper-mobility allowed him to dislocate every joint in his body simultaneously whenever he so chose, without any pain except perhaps in his lower spine, made for a delicious method of scaring most people out of their wits.

Other than the hologram projector, he’d used a thumb sized microphone to record different phrases he asked through the day, to play automatically when someone addressed his hologram self.  The technology was the same as before, so when the asylum noticed he was missing, he had no doubts that Batman would see through it.  But he didn’t really mind that much.  Right now, he was immersed in _An Allegorical Study of Frankenstein and Dracula_.  The fact that the author insisted that the point of both books was to have the reader believing that love can be found even in the strangest of places was complete and utter drivel.  Crane knew the true reasons of classical horror; why it was even stated in the name of the genre!

In truth though, he was waiting.

Waiting for the right moment to come about.

After what sounded like a dog shrieking in pain, the asylum retained its normal Wednesday softness, though there was a buzz of gossip among the inmates.  The buzzing had been there before, just toned down.  And then it had been about the escape of the Joker and a younger inmate named Stitches.  Crane knew both of them, and he found it rather peculiar that for once, the Joker would snatch someone else to take on his getaway with him.

Now the buzzing pertained to the Wednesdays’ regular visitor, Miss Guenhivyre Pendragon.  She was the key to pulling off his scheme.

Crane knew this well.  He had planned for the better half of four months this disappearing act, and it all counted on the young Miss Pendragon to work.  He’d decided this almost immediately; in fact, the idea had even come to him after he noticed her pattern was to appear every Wednesday, always coming to him as her last visit to an inmate.  She saw three a day at minimum, five at maximum, depending on how early she arrived, but he was always the last one.

Crane wasn’t exactly sure why, only that it could be used to his advantage.  He didn’t see why she decided to target him, he just pegged it down to it must be some atypical female behavior.  Jonathan had no idea that Guen was in fact, quite attracted to him.  Jonathan Crane was a very slender man, with a shock of black hair that he carefully parted so it didn’t hang in his eyes, which almost seemed out of place anyway, for though nowhere near as pallid as the Joker, his appearance still redefined the term alabaster skin.  Throw in his soft gray eyes and his gentle, quiet manner when his Scarecrow alter ego was turned off, he appealed to Guen completely.

Crane however, figured that her desire to see him was some sort of feminine need for a form of routine coupled with an interest that stemmed from her criminal psychology class work.  He’d never been much interested in girls when he was in high school, and romance was really rather a foreign concept to him.

Again, silly notions stemming from whatever it was that made females drastically different from men.  The fact that males fell prey to…whatever it was that made the gentler sex appealing almost made Crane gag with disgust.

However, he enjoyed seeing Miss Pendragon.  If anything, she was always a well of intellectual conversation in this desert ran by small-brained, Neanderthal thugs strutting around in uniforms and playing with guns, thinking it made them powerful.  And he seemed to get his wish, for suddenly, she was standing outside the Plexiglas wall, asking the guard to punch in the key for the door.  Crane inhaled and almost shuddered with delight.

Even from behind the Plexiglas, with her looking as laid back as always, the epinephrine coming from Pendragon was unmistakable.

She was terrified, a delightful anomaly that Crane had never yet witnessed.

The glass slid back a foot or two, and she stepped inside, offering him a small smile.

“Miss Pendragon, a pleasure as always.  Tell me, whose cell did you just get done visiting?” he inquired in his soft voice.

At that, she shuddered, looking away and nervously running her hands over her arms to warm the gooseflesh that had risen there.

Another curious and charming abnormality.

“Mm, Jervis Tetch.” she murmured.

The muscles of Crane’s face pulled into a frown.

“You cannot tell me that crass, horse-faced, fantasy-obsessed moron has you this terrified.” he snapped softly, feeling almost insulted.  Her face whipped around and she looked him in the eyes, her own growing wide.  Oh, how delicious!  Suddenly he had a whole new appreciation for the woman!

“N-no.  Umm….it’s a pleasure to see you too, Dr. Crane.” Guen said, glancing around as though unsure of what to do with herself.

“Oh, please sit wherever you fancy! Really now, I don’t mind.” he said from his seat on the floor, as he had one leg completely folded on top of the other, like a meditating Tibetan monk.  She nodded and sat yet again in the chair provided, her left hand still rubbing her right arm.

“Well, I’m glad to see you’re in a good mood.  Have you been well, Dr. Crane?” she asked.  He smiled at that.  She was the only person left that added the honorific to his name, and it was always a point in her favor.

“I’ve been doing as well as ever, under the same circumstances in which you have left me every other Wednesday, Miss Pendragon.” he replied gently, inclining his head slightly and shutting _An Allegorical Study_.

“That’s a new one.” she said, indicating the book.

“Oh, yes,” he agreed, glancing back at the cover, “It was given to me a little while back.  It seems Fenton Avery has a sense of humor.  Thought I would enjoy it.”

“And do you?”

“Oh, it’s rubbish!  To think that someone would have the audacity to say that the writing indicates a leaning toward romance—a love story, if you will—disgusts me.  They were written as horror, with a higher purpose than to serve as the...” he spat out the next word with such an expression on his face, it suggested he was spitting out a lemon, “ _smut_ novels of the nineteenth century.  The very suggestions indicated in this “study” insult me on almost every level of my intelligence!”

The vehemence with which he spoke of the book must have rendered her temporarily inarticulate, for she was speechless for the next few moments.  So he decided to try to wander onto a more casual topic.

“And how have _you_ been, Miss Pendragon?” he asked pleasantly.

“Oh, please Dr. Crane.  Just call me Guen.”

“Guenhivyre, then.  Neither completely formal or informal.”

“Well, I suppose I’ve been all right.  School has been going well, and I’ve managed to teach my dorm mate a thing or two about the better aspects of cleanliness.  I don’t know about work though.  The other night when I was working, I saw a thing on the news about how the Joker had escaped, and I got so distracted I accidentally upended an entire tray of wine onto Bruce Wayne.” she sighed, her cheeks going slightly pink.  “I don’t think I’ve ever been so embarrassed in my life.” She buried her face in her hands.

“Hmph.  No less than he deserves, if you ask me.  And besides, I will hazard a guess that he promised you that the whole matter would be disregarded.” Jonathan snorted.  Guen looked at him in surprise and nodded.

“As a matter of fact, he did.” she answered.

“Harrumph.  And then he got your phone number to store away in his little black book for God-knows-what purposes.” he continued, rolling his eyes and returning the _Study_ to his bookshelf.

“Actually, I sort of threw a few towels at him and got out of there as fast as I could.” She answered, and he almost jumped in surprise.  The corners of his mouth twitched as he looked at her again.

“Did you really?” he asked softly, on the verge of breaking into laughter.  She nodded and he couldn’t hold back any longer, his soft chuckles bubbling up from somewhere in his thin chest and erupting out his mouth.

“Wonderful, wonderful!” he managed to gasp out between his child-like giggles.  She smiled at that, and for some reason, it delighted him all the more so.

“Glad to see I cheered you up a bit.” she remarked.

“Oh, Guenhivyre, you have no idea!” he nearly shrieked, and hid his face in his hand, trying to stifle his laughter.  Suddenly there was a sound of pounding, and they both turned toward the door, where the guard was knocking on the Plexiglas.

“Visiting hours are almost over, Miss Pendragon.” he said gruffly.  “Time for you to go home.”  And with that, he opened the door.  Guenhivyre rose from her chair and offered to help pull Crane to his feet, but he unfolded himself and stood, pulling a smaller paperback novel from his shelf with his long, spindly fingers.

“Well, thank you for allowing me the visit, Dr. Crane.” she said quietly, clasping her hands in front of her, her eyes on her feet.  Jonathan almost snorted; why the sudden change in demeanor?  She was like a child being introduced to a stranger.

“Jonathan will do fine, thank you.  And believe me…” he put on his most sly smile, “The pleasure is all mine, Guenhivyre.”

She looked up and smiled brightly before the guard ushered her out and started to punch in the password to shut the Plexiglas.  Crane, his long fingers still clutching the thin paperback, tossed it lightly across the small room.  The book wedged itself between the sliding Plexiglas and the jamb of the doorway, but the sensor that read the door to be closed was already passed through with the plastic glass, so the opening was very small.

Not wasting any time, he reached up on top of the bookcase and turned on the hologram projector, which shot beams of light toward his cot, and a second Jonathan Crane appeared on the bed, sitting and reading a collection of Edgar Allen Poe.  From his vantage point, he could see right through his fake self, but when Crane walked around and stood in front of the projected double, it seemed almost completely solid.

_Not perfect, but it will do._ He decided, reaching under his pillow and turning on the reaction recording.

“Hey, Crane!” he snapped at the fake him on the bed.  The double didn’t glance up, but the recording snapped back, “Leave me alone, I’m busy.”

_Again, not perfect, but it shall suffice._ He nodded and saluted his double, then turned and placed his fingers in the jamb and wedged the door just a little farther open, kicking the book back inside.  Dislocating his hips and shoulders, he slipped out the door, letting the Plexiglas shut behind him, without ever having triggered the alarm.

_That’s the beauty of thorough preparation_ , he told himself, and proceeded to swagger down the hallway as confidently as any of the sercurity guards.

He’d come to notice that there were none of them patrolling the corridors whenever Guen left, because they were all busy seeing her out, making sure “nothing happened.”  And he also knew that if you walked through the halls with the arrogance of a sentry, the other inmates never noticed you.

The whole thing was almost too easy, except he had to get the timing just right or he’d fail.  
Instead of immediately heading out, once out of the cell halls, he took a detour to the left to the storage closet.  To his luck, it wasn’t yet locked up for the night, and he was easily able to get in and look around the shelves, quickly spying a cubby hole with the label “Jonathan Crane AKA the Scarecrow.”  In the cubby hole was a simple cardboard box, packed with his effects.

You’d think these people would learn the meaning of a safety deposit box in a bank.  Or even the use of a vault, heaven forbid!

Moments later, he was back in his nondescript beige shoes, brown pants, and long sleeved red shirt, all the openings tied off with rope that wasn’t too tight, but not exactly loose, as it held straw at the edges for effect.  Finally, he donned his full-head mask and the hat, his glasses tucked safely away in a hidden pocket.  Jonathan Crane had entered the storage room and now the Scarecrow walked out, adjusting his pointed, nailed gloves, and carefully meandering back the way he’d come, ducking into a corner just as all the security guards came back from seeing off Guenhivyre Pendragon.  He now had no time to waste.  As the last guard passed by his corner, he slipped away silently as a cat, ducking as he passed Dr. Avery’s office door and slipping out the side door without so much as a whisper of his passing.

Outside, he almost gave an undignified leap of thrill.  He was out!  But not free, not yet.  Ducking as low as possible as he walked in the parking lot, he searched for Guen’s car.   He saw her at the end, in a corner, her ancient Thunderbird not yet turned on.  He watched in fascination as she removed what appeared to be not her hair, but rather a blonde wig.  Underneath, she undid the pin in her black hair that was holding it in place and shook it out, the long tresses falling only slightly below her shoulders.  Crane smiled, his Scarecrow mask twitching in a freaky imitation of it.  He had had a feeling that she wasn’t really blonde, and now that it was proven she wasn’t, he found he preferred her brunette hair.

Then she started to shrug off her suit jacket, and he made his move, coming up to the driver’s side door.  She had her window cracked about an inch or so, and that was all he needed.  She was startled at his presence and his hand shot through the opening, clamping tightly over her mouth as her eyes went huge.

“I would discourage screaming, Miss Pendragon.  Unless you want to be so shot up with my neurotoxins that you'll be living in your nightmares for a week.” he said, his rasping, louder voice a sharp contrast to the gentle soft thing it had been before.  She blinked twice, which he took to be consent.  Slowly, he removed his gloved hand, slipping it out of the window like a snake.

“Now, if you would please unlock your passenger side door?” he prompted, and she reacted immediately, reaching over and popping the lock up.  He was there in seconds, opening the door just a crack and slipping his slender body in before shutting it again.

“My thanks to you, Guenhivyre.  Without you, I’d never be able to have gotten out of there.” he said kindly.

“Y-you…you.  You used me.” She said, looking like someone had ripped the veil from her eyes and promptly slapped her in the face.

“Indeed.  I am a criminal, Guenhivyre, it is what I do.  Don’t look so surprised.” he answered, buckling his seat belt.

“How could you…?” she whispered, staring at the steering wheel.  The jacket slipped from her shoulders, and Jonathan received a shock.

The two strange bumps that everyone had always pointed out in her suit fluttered and stretched and seemed to wilt.  They were small feathered wings, midnight blue in color and each about the size of Crane’s two long hands put together.  They fluttered discontentedly, and he figured it was an indication of her mood.  To think, a woman with wings.  And she was terrified, that made it all the better.

“How exquisite…” he murmured, reaching over to stroke her wing.  He ran a finger over the feathers and the wing twitched, her head raising to look at him, hurt and fear battling in her eyes.

“What do you want?” she asked, trembling.

Suddenly the alarms began to wail behind them.  The asylum had discovered him missing.

“What I want right now,” he said, without a trace of panic in his voice whatsoever, “is for you to drive.”


	4. Crane Chemical Labs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This chapter has been] affectionately subtitled by my friends "The Epic Quest For the Best Pot Pie in Gotham City".  
> If that alone isn't enough to scare you off and you somehow manage to make it through this chapter, I still recommend reading the meta post for this fic. Trust me, it's better.

She wasn’t sure what was pushing her to drive so fast or recklessly, only that it stemmed somewhere from inside her, as deep as bone marrow. Somehow, she managed to keep from doing much more than scratching up the Thunderbird. Once out of the district, she felt the Scarecrow’s hand settle on her shoulder.

“Slow down. You persist with this ferocity, the police will be on us in moments and you can kiss this old heap of a metal deathtrap farewell.” he said sharply, the grip of his fingers surprisingly strong and painful for such a frail-seeming man.

Instantly she relented her pressure on the gas pedal, and brought the car down to the speed limit that was posted on the roadside. If there were any cops around, they paid no attention to an old T-bird with two passengers. Guen guessed that if any had noticed her speedy departure from Arkham, none of them had been able to take down her license plate number.

“Take a right onto the bridge there.” came the command, a long, spidery finger pointing it out. Guen was a bit confused as to why they would, but she said nothing, obediently clicking on her right turn signal. The high-wire suspension bridge was mostly deserted, and it gave her an eerie feeling of being exposed, watched. The T-bird was halfway across when the Scarecrow let out a hissing noise, his grip growing more painfully tight on her shoulder.

“It seems my dear cowled friend is on the prowl. In broad daylight, no less.” he said, leaning forward to look out the windshield. Sure enough, against the dying afternoon sky, the obsidian shape that was dubbed “the Batwing” flew over the suspension bridge, far lower than any normal plane might fly. Guenhivyre Pendragon swallowed hard.

The Batman.

“It’s not broad daylight. The sun’s setting.” she heard the words walk out of her mouth before she could stop them. Trust her need to be technically correct to kick in when she was scared witless and alone in the company of a dangerous criminal who reveled in the fear of his victims.

For his part however, the Scarecrow seemed to be ignoring her.

“Undoubtedly the authorities have contacted him by now. More likely than not while he was patrolling for the Joker. And now he’s on the hunt for me as well.” he murmured, and Guenhivyre thought she heard a note of triumph in his voice.

“Isn’t that a bad thing?” she muttered, slightly annoyed. She hadn’t meant for him to hear, but the vice grip on her shoulder suddenly disappeared and when she glanced at him, Crane’s fists were balled up on his thin hips. He let out a sigh that seemed to suggest he was having to put up with a very slow and dim-witted child.

“Never you mind, Miss Pendragon,” he said briskly, the gray eyes glittering behind the amber ones of his mask, “You’ll understand later.”

An indignant anger arose in Guen at the ‘tsk’ing sound he made and she pulled over as she descended the bridge’s ramp. She hastily put the Thunderbird in park and turned, glaring at him fiercely, her green eyes burning into the burlap mask.

“I don’t appreciate you talking to me and treating me like I’m stupid, Dr. Crane! And I’ve got half a mind to turn you over to the GCPD right now!” she yelled, grabbing her cell phone from her purse. But in doing so, she made the mistake of taking her eyes off him. The Scarecrow’s right hand grabbed her wrist, squeezing just enough to loosen her grip on the cell, while his left hand shot out, long, thin fingers closing over her neck. He didn’t apply enough force to choke her, but plenty to get his point across, and more than enough to make her eyes doe-wide in terror.

“If you’ll recall, Miss Pendragon,” he said very quietly, “I never said you were stupid nor did I treat you as anything but ignorant on a subject you know nothing of. But I would highly recommend you reconsider your threat. You do not want to make me angry, Guenhivyre. The fingernails on my gloves can sever flesh as easily as they can release my special reserves of neurotoxin.” As if to emphasize his point, he dug his nails in, threatening to pierce her skin. Then, his right hand moved up from her wrist, closing over both her hand and the mobile phone. He released his hold on her throat, his face leaning in close, the expression on his mask becoming a frown. Guenhivyre felt her heart pound, and she remembered the face of Jonathan Crane beneath his mask.

“I’ll take _that_.” he growled, snatching the cell from her grasp. She let out an indignant noise of protest, and the Scarecrow pressed two of his fingers against her lips, glaring at her with such malevolence she was almost sure he was thrilled at her horror. 

“Silence, or I’ll have to demolish it as well as apprehend it! Now…I insist you try to be a bit more agreeable. It’ll make this whole endeavor far easier.”

Reluctantly, she nodded and managed to grip the wheel again, despite how badly she was shaking. She pulled the car back onto the road and said nothing as Crane cheerfully continued to instruct her on their way.

The sun set on Gotham City, and Guenhivyre noticed he was having her circle the same areas over and over, in no particular pattern. They continued on in this manner for over an hour, until when she was finally ready to say something, he directed her down a new road and had her drive away from their little “haunt section.” The road led onto a freeway, which he had her stay on for a while. Suddenly, she heard a low, rumbling growl issue from the passenger seat. Guen had no idea what she’d done wrong this time, but when she glanced over, the Scarecrow was staring down at his stomach in mild surprise.

“Are you hungry? We could stop somewhere to eat.” she said gently. His eyes flicked to her, as though suggesting hunger indicated she was searching for a weakness. but then he let out a sigh.

“Yes. The needs of body—even if it is _mine_ —must be met. However, I’m not properly outfitted to dine with the… _normal_ public. Just in case you’d forgotten.”

Bitter and sarcastic though he tried to sound, Guenhivyre had to admit he had a point, and it had been probably several hours since he’d last eaten anything. She gently turned the wheel, pulling off at the exit, and started to cruise around, looking for a good restaurant.

“Anything in particular calls to you, tell me.” she said. This won her an instantaneous skeptical glare.

“Didn’t you hear a word I said just a moment ago?” Crane snorted, his tolerance for stupidity running in low reserves like always. She nodded.

“Mm-hmm. But most restaurants will let me order something as carry-out. It may take them a little while, but they’ll get it made for you so you don’t have to go in.” she said, her own patience wearing thin again. Crane listened a moment, then shrugged. It was an all right solution, and he didn’t mind. Though trying to find something on a menu he couldn’t hold in front of him was rather bothersome, if he may add, thank you please. Guenhivyre Pendragon gnashed her teeth irritatedly in response.

After a few moments of silent window browsing, Guen pointed out a small, homely-looking restaurant she’d once eaten at before.

“They make good chicken pot pie.” she threw in, the tone in her voice making it perfectly clear this was her first choice to stop. Crane glanced at the lit sign and gave a short sniff at the curtains in the windows, the flowers gracing the front of the store, the sheer amount of lights blazing.

“Very well then, Miss Pendragon. I’ll try it. I trust your opinion, since you seem the expert in this particular area. Though I beg that you do park somewhere in the back, where the glare from the lights is less likely to reach me.” He said coldly, leaning back in the chair and folding his arms behind his head as he threw his feet up on the dashboard, ankles crossed.

“Of course, oh Wise and Powerful Star of the East. You’re the genius.” she muttered sarcastically. As the brim of his frayed hat fell over the eyes of his mask, the Scarecrow gave a tiny smirk. If she always proved to be this easy to annoy, he may as well keep her around after all. He did need a good laugh every now and then.

Guen put the car in park, near the back of the building, and turned it off as she stepped out of the door. She started to go, but then grabbed the key out of the ignition, warily casting a glance in her passenger’s direction. There was no way he could possibly see her expression, but she saw him sneer as he said, “Do go on, Miss Pendragon. There is no need to worry; rest assured, I’m not going _anywhere_.”

She gave a hard swallow, thinking, _Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of_. But somehow, she imagined that would only serve to let him have the advantage, so she chose not to give voice to that particular thought. Instead, she merely responded, “I should be back soon.”

The car door shut, and the Scarecrow nudged his hat ever so slightly, watching her progress until she rounded the corner out of sight. He still had her cell phone, so he doubted she was planning to alert someone. The panic it would cause could easily play into his hands, and the police would be there too late. She would definitely have considered that tiny, yet ever so crucial piece of it all by now. Plus, she was astonishingly easy to manipulate for one so clever. It was a pity in a way, but Jonathan was going to risk no chances. For several minutes he waited, growing all the more bored and thus tired with having to stay in one spot, but he decided against the idea of removing his mask and waltzing inside.

After a bit he noticed a hardcover book in the back seat, the gold leaf on the cover having caught his eye in the reflection in the rearview mirror. He reached back and his fingers closed on it as he made to pull it to the front of the car. It turned out to be weighty and caught him initially by surprise, but he shook it off and managed to finally get the book on his lap. To his astonishment, it was a complete collection of all the short stories of Edgar Allen Poe.

“Well now, Guenhivyre. You never told me this little detail about yourself.” he murmured curiously, and opened to the bookmark on _The Premature Burial_. Very fascinating, that they would have similar tastes in writers. He even forgot his hunger for a while, getting lost in the stories, and the sound of the car door opening made him jump. Startled, he looked up as Guenhivyre slid into the driver’s seat, balancing two steaming white boxes between her hands as she tried to shut the door. She thrust a plastic-wrapped spork and one of the boxes at him, none too gently.

“There you go, your Highness. One fresh chicken pot pie.” she muttered. He tossed her a skeptical look, then rested the box on his thin, spindly legs as he removed his hat and mask. Damn, but burlap got so itchy! Brushing the hair out of his eyes, he murmured a quick “thank you”, and dug in. He ate slowly, like a dignified gentleman at first, but then his hunger got the better of him. For ages, that dreadful asylum had given him little other than soup and water. To eat something with substance for a change! It was like he’d just had all of his birthdays remembered at once. He ate ravenously, just barely remembering his manners, and ignoring the fact his taste buds were mostly being scalded off his tongue.

“Guessing my hunch was right.” Guenhivyre said with a smirk of her own. She didn’t really mind his manners, considering first off that they were in a car, and secondly that he had not eaten in a while. She watched as he quickly inhaled his pie and finished off the rest of hers. Once he’d finished eating, he let out a happy sigh and leaned back in the chair again, his eyes misty and dreamlike.

“My thanks.” he said. She nodded. She had a feeling his thanksgiving was not something that happened very often.

“If I may ask you something, when you were talking about the needs of your body being met, what did you mean by ‘even if it is mine?’” she asked, curiosity killing the cat.  
For a long time, he sat there in silence, astonished at the question, then with a frown, he turned his head in the opposite direction.

“You’d best not poke your nose into others’ pasts, Miss Pendragon.” he replied stiffly, the tone in his voice indicating that there was going to be no straying back onto the topic.

“Okay, then. Sorry I brought it up. Now where to?” she asked, nodding back toward the highway. For a moment, he looked like she’d just told him that he couldn’t have a nap, but after a roll of the eyes, he began his job as the road map once again.

She followed his instructions to the letter, though soon she noticed the clock was reading a quarter to one. She pulled off another exit and when he began to get irritated, she explained she had to take a break, had to rest. She reached into the back seat and pulled something off the floor. It turned out to be a cassette tape, something the Scarecrow thought were all but outdated now. She stuck it in the tape player on the main panel, then got out and stretched a bit at the rest stop. The tape played when she turned the car back on, and to Crane’s surprise, the song that it started out with was about nothing other than his favorite holiday: Halloween. It was interesting enough, though it acted like it was telling a story to children, and when he asked, she told him as much.

“It’s from a kid’s movie, by Tim Burton. The music is done by Danny Elfman. He also is the singing voice of the main character.” she said. Then the song changed and she nodded, indicating the composer’s voice. This song confused him though, as it turned out the main character was indeed the spirit of Halloween but was growing bored with the fright-and-delight routine and falling in with Christmas.

“What is this pathetic simpering? Bored with frightening?” Crane scoffed, crossing his arms and feeling particularly insulted.

“He undergoes a transition and in the end, only ends up with more ideas for Halloween.” Guenhivyre explained.

“Did you put this in to spite the Scarecrow?” he snarled at her, leaning uncomfortably close, his breath tickling the hair on the nape of her neck. She barely managed to keep the car from swerving back and forth, silently cursing herself for not using foresight on how the music might affect her…special passenger.

“No, I did it to keep myself awake so I don’t feel as tired. It just happens to be the only tape I have in the car.” she answered wearily. To this, the Scarecrow stared at her suspiciously for several long, quiet, agonizing moments, and finally sat back, listening to the music and directing her when he had to. Guenhivyre’s mind was caught in the grip of the fear that the Scarecrow loved so well, and for her part, she obeyed, humming along to the tape in order to take her mind off her trepidation. She actually sang along to the bogeyman’s song, which earned her another stare, though she doubted it was an angry one.

Time seemed to move agonizingly slow whenever she would constantly glance at the clock, and when she would take time off of worrying about time itself, it often shocked her how much of it had passed. Then finally, she began to nod off, and pulled to a stop along a dark, deserted street, parking the car and turning it off.

“Are we tired?” Jonathan Crane’s soft voice asked her gently as her vision began to fade.

“N-not tired. Just need…to rest my…eyes a minute…” she murmured, and then fell into a weary sleep. The Scarecrow let out a pleased chuckle. Mere minutes later, anyone wake on that particular street who had seen the arrival of an old chestnut Thunderbird saw it take off again, this time going further down the road toward the abandoned outskirts of Gotham. But surely that was nothing more than a trick of the early morning darkness. Nobody in their right or sane minds would go that way, so the observers must have still been half asleep when they looked out the window onto the street below. It was the only plausible explanation that actually made sense. Which only meant it was time to hit the coffee extra hard today.

***

_Guenhivyre Pendragon’s dreams were troubled. She first noticed something was strange when the street’s lampposts were giving off a light that seemed to suck the color out of whatever they illuminated. But beyond what the lamps lit up, everything was in darkness. Complete and utter darkness, the kind that pressed in on you suffocatingly, the kind that boiled and writhed at the edges, the kind of darkness that was sentient, alive, and watching your every move. Gooseflesh raised all over her arms, and she shuddered, though whether from the cold wind or…something else, she couldn’t tell. Maybe it was a bit of both. The wind brought with it an eerie moan, like someone crying softly in the distance. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end._

_“W-who’s there?” she called out, but to no avail. The only answer she received was another ghostly moan, this one a little louder than before. Still trembling, she turned her back to the direction the sound came from and began to walk, with nothing to guide her but the light of the lampposts. Her mind went back to when she read C. S. Lewis’s Chronicles of Narnia, and the lamppost that played an important part in the books. If she recalled correctly, the witch had been the one to plant the lamppost in the first place._

_As her mind flicked to her childhood’s mind’s eye of what Jadis had looked like, she heard a footstep behind her. She stopped and turned, seeing nothing behind her except the lampposts she’d passed._

_“Who’s there?” she called again, a little louder this time. The footsteps had ceased and for a long moment there was a frightening silence that added to the oppressiveness of the darkness. Turning back slowly, she started to walk again, this time changing her pace ever so slightly. There! There were the footsteps again. They’d been caught off guard by her slowing down and were still walking at her previous gait. She stopped abruptly and wheeled around, the sound of her pursuer stopping a second after she had. She stared into the darkness, trying to adjust her eyes, to catch a glimpse of this mysterious stalker. At once, the darkness writhed and there came a fluttering of wings._

_Bats, hundreds of them, having made up the sentient black void, rose on the wing with a resounding chorus of screeching. They came at her, flying around her madly, tearing at the wing buds on her back until they burst open, two black, limp, fluttering wings dripping with blood from tearing the skin on her back. They flew around her in a vortex, rising higher and higher toward the moonless, starless sky. Then they were gone altogether, the last of their screeches fading with the night air._

_“What was that?” she asked herself aloud, looking up toward a midnight sky._

_“Twinkle twinkle, little bat._

_How I wonder what you’re at.”_

_The voice came from behind her._

_She wheeled around to see a person dressed in a long, blue jacket and trousers, British shoes, and a high top hat adorned with a “In this style 10/6” card in its brim leaning up against the lamppost casually, arms folded over his chest. A person with messy blonde hair, malicious eyes, and a grin wide enough to do the Cheshire Cat justice._

_“Up above the world you fly,_

_Like a tea tray in the sky.”_

_Jervis Tetch, the Mad Hatter._

_“Mr. Tetch? What are you—?” she stuttered, but the cold malevolence she’d seen in his eyes rose to the surface as he bodily lunged at her, grabbing her wrists and pinning her to the ground._

_All rationality left Guenhivyre. This was her worst nightmare come to life. She cried out, but his gloved hand clamped tightly over her mouth._

_“Ah-ah-ah, Miss Pendragon! Scream and I won’t show you the way to Wonderland. And you’re making such a fuss! I’m late, I’m late, I’m late…”  
Her mind reeled, panic fueling adrenaline, and something primal started to surface. She started to kick her legs, twisting and turning, but it did little other than to serve the Hatter’s idea that she might be interested in what he was trying to do to her. Finally, unable to think of anything else, she bit down on his hand—hard._

_“AAARRGHHH!!”_

_He pulled away, but she only sunk her teeth in more viciously. He cried out in pain again, jerking his arm, and this time he pulled his hand away._

_“WAKE UP!” He shouted, in Jonathan Crane’s voice, and there was a stinging sensation in the side of her face. She blinked, and the image of Jervis Tetch began to blur._

***

She lunged out with another bite, and the hand that had tried to slap her awake retreated quickly. Then she saw the walls of the parking garage beyond the Thunderbird, and the Scarecrow hastily taking a step back from her.

“Astonishing…I’d heard of the “fight or flight” instincts of adrenaline rushes, but to think it could be activated during a nightmare! I’ll have to run tests on this.” he said in a fast murmur that she was sure he’d not meant her to hear.

“D-Doctor Crane! Where are—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—where are we, I’m sorry, I didn’t know I was biting—eh, why am I in the passenger seat?” the words spilled out of her mouth in a rush when she suddenly realized there was no longer a steering wheel in front of her.

“To answer your incomplete question, we’ve arrived at my laboratory.” he reached over her and tilted the rearview mirror. She sat up straighter to get a better look and saw the mirror image of a sign outside of the parking garage, not too far off. Having played a few games involving the mind’s perception of a reversed image in a mirror with Edward Nygma, it only took a few seconds before Guen read it.

‘Crane Chemical Labs and Research.’

Then below it:

‘CONDEMNED.’

“If your lab is condemned, why are we—?”

“Because it isn’t,” Crane answered briskly, “The first time I set out, having donned my mask, the Batman traced my trail from the Gotham University charity ball back to here. That was the first time I’d been sent to Arkham. After my first escape, I happened to plant the condemned notices up here to ward him off, should I ever need to use it again.”

“Wouldn’t he have guessed you did that?” she asked, but he waved his bitten hand dismissively.

“Of course he would have. Which is why since then, I’ve taken pains not to come back here. It adds to the illusion. This time, however, it was necessary to be used again, as it seems that my expected guests arrived sometime yesterday.”

“None of that explains why I’m in the passenger’s seat.” she pressed on, irritated.

“It was a necessary evil I had to perform after you fell asleep so that we could keep traveling. And don’t sit there with that innocent expression! Not only did you bite when I tried to wake you from your terror-induced nightmare, but you are also bothersomely heavy.” he simpered, turning up his nose. Guenhivyre looked again at his thin arms, (borderline anorexic-thin when you really got down to it,) and felt a little guilty. Of course she’d be heavy for such a spindly man to move!

“I’m sorry.” she whispered.

“Never you mind. Care to explain what that nightmare was about?” he asked, eyes glittering hungrily, “It had you tossing and turning and crying out in your sleep, never mind the mumbling.”

She glanced up at him, and then down at her feet.

The Scarecrow let out an exasperated noise.

“Oh, fine! But you’ll tell me later. Ulysses has already gone to inform my visitors that we’ve arrived. You’re going to have to get yourself up, as I refuse to haul your carcass around.” he growled, the mask taking on a decidedly frustrated expression.

“Ulysses? Visitors?” Guen asked, and looked beyond him, to two more vehicles parked in the garage. One was a black, nondescript car whose model and make she couldn’t discern, but the other was a large purple van, built like one of those black ops that she’d seen in spy movies, or the Mystery Machine from Scooby-Doo. And spray-painted on the side of it, clashing with the purple, were two black circles and a large, red crescent on its side.

Her blood ran cold and she thought she felt her heart stop for a second.

“That’s _his_ van, isn’t it?” she breathed.

No need to ask who ‘he’ was; the Scarecrow gave the tiniest glance over his shoulder, then nodded.

“Indeed. I’m sure you’ve heard of his recent escape. He happened to ask me sometime before if he could—I think the idiom he used was ‘crash’—here. Being the generous soul that I am, I gave him the directions. The man seems to have a brain that can visualize any auditory description he may hear. As for Ulysses, he’s known as “Twitch” among the Underworld of Gotham, owing to his Tourette’s syndrome. I happened to find a while back in a difficult situation, and offered him a way out, so he’s been working for me since.” the Scarecrow explained boredly, as though anything in the world could interest him more at the moment then talking about his unofficial tenants.

_Guen, you are in over your head, girl! You should just run right now! You helped the Scarecrow escape from Arkham, and you’re about to be trapped in the same building with the only other inmate that’s just as depraved and deadly_. she chided herself mentally, but then one of Jonathan Crane’s long-fingered hands stretched out to her in offering.

“Don’t want to keep them waiting. Ulysses is nervous enough as it is about me taking this long to come in, he’s probably ready to have a seizure.” he said, and reluctantly, she unbuckled her seat belt and took his hand, sleepily staggering out of the T-bird. Shutting the door, Crane led her up a flight of stairs to the door, and they stepped inside the warehouse of the laboratory. Some of the lights were already on, flickering a little, as he led her across the carpeted floor. She looked toward another flight of stairs, which led to upper rooms and a wrap-around catwalk to even more rooms. Several empty tables stood around the vast room, and a row of gas tanks aligned one wall below several rows of shelves adorned with different vials and beakers.

Unexpectedly, her nose began to feel itchy and Guenhivyre let out a loud sneeze. There were numerous layers of dust on everything, and guessing from the recent arrival of the Scarecrow’s “guests”, a lot of dust had been kicked up. Crane looked back at her, as though she’d done something highly offending, and started walking all the faster, turning sharply to the right and down a hallway with off-white walls and a tiled floor. His strides were long, owing to his spindly, lengthy legs, and she had to nearly jog to keep up. The hallway seemed almost out of place, like a hallway in a church, as he led her around another turn to the right and then stopped at a doorway on his left. Panting a little, Guenhivyre came to stand at his side and looked into what appeared to be a kitchen and dining room, like something you’d see at a big company office. A mini-cafeteria of sorts.

Then gooseflesh raised on her arms again and a shiver ran up her spine. The people in the dining room all looked at her curiously, then directed their attention back to the figure at her side.  
One man was easily identifiable as Ulysses, owing to the small jerking motions made by his hands. He was about average in height with a gaunt face and messy, dark brown hair. He wore a frayed brown trenchcoat and brown slacks, with black shoes. His gray eyes were almost clouded over with fear, and he opened and shut his mouth several times while he looked at Dr. Crane.

Another was a slightly burly man with a squarish face, in nondescript blue jeans and tee-shirt under a beige jacket. Standing slightly apart from him was a young woman that Guenhivyre had seen several times before. Her face was adorned with white powder and a black domino mask, and she wore a red-and-black motley suit with a double-pointed hat.

Next to the illustrious Harley Quinn was a shorter girl, with blue and silver streaks in her messy, shoulder-length hair. Her eyes were such a strange color of brown that they were closer to red, and her chapped lips parted to reveal a mouth full of teeth that had been filed down to sharp points. A jester’s crown sat teetering on her head, and she wore a halter top of sorts with a frayed skirt and a wicked looking pair of combat boots. Clamped in her arms was a black kitten with large blue eyes, puffing up its fur. Guenhivyre knew the girl to be Stitches, and had seen her photos before, but she’d never actually met her among the Arkham inmates. Stitches looked at her curiously, tilting her head.

And finally, there _he_ was. Purple coatjacket and pants, green vest, spotted tie, messy green hair, black eyes, red mouth set in a white face, and all. His tongue flicked out as he smiled, standing up from his chair and stretching his arms wide in greeting.

The Joker.

This time a shiver ran up her spine and she had to fight to keep her wings folded behind her back as he spoke.

“Evening, Pro-fessor.”


	5. Enter The Freaks

To which Crane replied stiffly, “Joker.”

The clown prince of crime grinned and leapt up, spreading his arms as thought to embrace a long-lost brother.

“Now, Scarypants! I must say you look like you’ve lost weight again!” he chuckled, and went into a series of mad giggles. Underneath the mask, Jonathan felt his temple begin to throb in irritation. Since he was very young, he’d had to endure those same taunts about how awkwardly thin and gangly he was. He doubted whether the Joker knew this or not, but all the same, he had to supress the anger, bury it deeply. It would not do to let his…“guest” get his goat.

“Yes, Napier, “ he replied, using the name that had been assigned to the Joker based on the best guess who he once was, “I believe I have gotten thinner. And you, I see, have started robbing the cradle for your hired help.” He nodded to Stitches, who gave him a sneer in response, baring her filed teeth like an animal. However, she only succeeded in looking like a particularly grumpy toddler. Underneath the makeup intent on mimicking the Joker’s, the girl couldn’t have been older than 15, 16 at the most. Now she added an attempt at a menacing growl.

Really. As if that made her intimidating. Crane found himself yawning involuntarily.  Something moved behind him, and the Joker’s gaze flicked to follow it.

“And you, Scarecrow? Didn’t take you for the type to…” he licked his lips in consideration before finishing, “Take in strays.”

He looked over his shoulder at Guenhivyre, whose anxious gaze jumped between him and all the others. He shifted his stance to semi-face her and she flinched. He had to smile at that. He preferred terror in the raw; it was far more enriching than anything accomplished with his fear toxins, ingenious work though they were. He glanced back at Stitches, who shuffled her feet to a more threatening stance, or what she thought was one, in any case. Harley Quinn looked toward her, then looked him in the eye before casting her gaze downward, clearly nervous.

“Yes, well. Seems _your_ stray needs to invest in obedience school.” he replied coolly.

“Ha ha haaaaaa! Like _yours_?! She’s as submissive as a beaten dog!!” the Joker erupted into another fit of mad laughter. At this Guenhivyre’s head snapped up, but the Scarecrow wasn’t going to have that. This was his territory; he had to keep the upper hand on them all. He grabbed Guenhivyre’s shoulder and squeezed as tight as he could, digging his nails in. Almost instantly, he felt her tension slide from angry to anxious. He looked the Joker in the eye, his hand releasing Guen’s shoulder to come up, his long fingers running over the side of her face in a caressing gesture.

“I assure you, my pet is well _trained_.” he snapped, taking care to place emphasis on the last word. He let his nails scrape her skin before she averted her head, her entire body beginning to tremble. Most excellent! Though he’d almost been sure that she would have objected with the same strong will she’d displayed last night. Still, he wasn’t about to complain. Then he caught sight of the kitten in the arms of the Joker’s newest lackey.

“Speaking of pets. And wherever did you locate my missing lab rat?”

“She’s not a rat! And her name’s Cheshire, you strawheaded bully!” Stitches snarled, the kitten in her arms hissing and puffing herself out to the point of resembling a furry sponge. At this point, Ulysses approached, just within reach of Crane’s long, thin arms.

“Please, sir! She found the kitten just wandering around. It’s my fault, I had assured you they’d all been…disposed of.” he choked, lowering his head. The Scarecrow looked at his assistant, arching an eyebrow curiously, the fabric of his mask mimicking the movement.

“Ulysses?” he prompted. He’d forgotten how utterly sympathetic the man could be. Then again, when it came to the incident with the cats, he’d clearly disapproved of Crane’s experiment.

“Professor, please,” Ulysses pressed on, “just let her keep it. It’s such a small thing, and surely it—“

“Oh, do stop your whining, Ulysses! You should know I don’t like others getting their hands all over my specimens,” Scarecrow sighed, then abruptly he turned and made a commanding motion with his hand to Stitches. “Come on, give it back now. You are wearing thin my patience and hospitality.”

At this, Stitches snarled and nearly lunged as though to bite him, but Harley Quinn grabbed her by an arm and a shoulder, trying to calmly restrain her.

“Now now, Muffin,” she said, her voice shaking, “le-let’s just s-sit down and relax.” And with what seemed to be a great deal of effort, she sat the younger girl down in one of the chairs. Unconsciously, Jonathan massaged his hand, running fingers over his knuckles. That was the _third_ time this morning he’d nearly had a finger bitten off! Of all the inferior, simple-minded, brainless, barbaric--! Next thing, they’d all be taking lessons from Killer Croc!

Suddenly, a hand closed around his thin arm and, annoyed, he looked at Guenhivyre Pendragon.

“Please, Professor Crane. Take me instead. Let her have the kitten, I’ll be your test subject,” she spoke boldly, and quite voluminous at that. The Scarecrow blinked at her in surprise, then realized the wavering wings on her back, indicating the sheer courage she’d mustered to say this.

He felt something begin to bubble up inside his chest, then claw its way up his throat and out his mouth as he began to roar with laughter, his sides shaking so much his ribcage began to cut into his hips. He felt delightfully insane, laughing so much, and it was actually a relief when he heard Joker join in with his own hyenic cackle.

Good to know he wasn’t the only maniac in the house.

“Please, I’m serious!” she pleaded, tugging more insistently at his sleeve. Even within fits of laughter, he still managed to jerk his arm away, but his anger seemed to have melted. He’d not anticipated her volunteering to be a test subject when he’d been planning to make her one anyway. This was too good, too rich! He’d even let slide the fact she was addressing him improperly, in view of his mask.

Still, would be better to seem like he still had the upper hand.

“Very well, Guenhivyre. The little miscreant may keep the bedamned animal. But you need not take its place.” He waved his hand dismissively, then leaned in close to her, forming his face into a devious sneer, triumphantly succeeding when she shrank back from the features of his mask. “No, I already had something else planned for you. Specially prepared. Otherwise, I would not have let you keep your pathetic life or your miserable sanity once you set foot outside of your vehicle.”

Oh, all right! So that last part was a bluff. But he did intend to set up the equipment needed to experiment on her how he wished. And what’s more, she completely bought it. She sank to her knees on the floor, her eyes wide and almost vacant in their horror.

“You’re a monster.” she said quietly, and at this the Joker nearly tripped over himself laughing. Who knew soap operas were so comedic?

“My gratitude for the compliment; I’m so glad you noticed,” the Scarecrow replied nonchalantly, “But for the time being, I must return to my office. I’ll return shortly. Mr. Napier, you and your…comrades feel free to make yourselves at home.” He knew it was not the best note to exit on, but he had to go run some preliminary tests on his main computer. No doubt Ulysses kept it in perfect working order but he had to be sure all the same. And in any case, he didn’t feel much like putting up with that dichotomy of a woman at the moment. Particularly when there were two other females around. Even when they hated each other, women had this bizarre sense of camaraderie that enabled them to ally together against a common enemy.

He turned on his heel and left, walking down the hall, his footsteps making soft pattering noises on the tile. Behind him, he heard the Joker and his lackey leave a few moments after him, and the teenaged menace strike up a very loud conversation. Finally he noticed his hand was closed over the doorknob, and he wrenched it open, letting it slam shut behind him. People were so frustratingly complicated to deal with! He collapsed in his easy chair at the desk and let out a sigh.

Time to leave them to deal with their trivial matters. For the time being, the computer needed its preliminary diagnostics. He booted it up with little trouble, leaning back in the chair as it went through its start-up phase. Once finished, it brought up a username and password window and he let his long fingers fly over the keyboard. All the programs were running normally, the hologram projector was hooked up right, the camera monitors were still functioning at their best and giving him an angled view into every room, and all the documents and systems relating to his research were, aside from having been checked to maintain operation, otherwise untouched. He was able to sit back with a satisfied smile. That Ulysses did his job well.

Sometimes a little too well, it seemed.

“Have you been up to something, Ulysses?” he muttered to himself, and ran through the applications that he’d been working on. The process didn’t take long itself, as Ulysses seemed to regard himself as unworthy to use the computer, but the Scarecrow sat a long while in thought, pondering the twitchy man’s behavior.

He had his doubts that Ulysses would go turncoat on him, but one could never be sure. He finally rose from his desk and strode across the room to his cabinets, taking a minute to remember where he’d hidden the key. He always felt a little more average when it came to hiding things—something he did not approve of, being average at anything—but at least it was effective. Finally he located the key and slipped it in the lock. It was a tad finicky at first, but it gave way, and he threw open the metal doors with more than a little enthusiasm. There, waiting for him, sat his chemicals and toxins.

The majority of them were the finished products, as he didn’t like keeping chemical compounds locked up in his office. Those were easier stored in one of the laboratory testing rooms, and the most of them were. However, on the lowest shelf sat a few minor chemicals that he allowed in his cabinet for whenever he felt like taking a break from his work and simply playing “chemistry set” again. He slipped out two stoppered glass beakers and took them over to a table opposite the cabinet on the other side of the room. He returned for a phial only, and then slowly set to mixing the two in the phial. He didn’t need to read a measurement chart; no, the Scarecrow was too brilliant to be hampered by that for something so small. First a little bit of one, than the other. The two chemicals didn’t mix at first, but sat on top of each other, so he set a stopper into the phial and gently shook it. The binary compounds united, turning first blue, then white, and finally clear, indicating the truth serum was complete.

It was barely more than a mouthful, but if he were to make any more, the chemical effect on Ulysses’ brain would be catastrophic, not even taking into account he had Tourette’s. Therefore, he would have to make do, and just wait for the opportune moment to slip it to him.  
The Scarecrow labeled the little phial with his scrawling signature and a tag that read, “For Mr. Cutter,” and returned it to a holding case in his cabinet before clearing the rest of his work off the table and locking up the storage again.

Who said he only had to invest in his neurotoxins?

Satisfied, he returned to the computer and brought up the window for the surveillance cameras. On all moniters, everything seemed all right. One in particular caught his attention. It seemed Ulysses had taken the liberty of turning one of the spare rooms into a “guest room” of sorts, complete with one bed and a bunk bed set. Otherwise it was sparse in furnishings and it seemed the Joker and his female cohorts had taken to it. Stitches was in it at the moment and Guenhivyre as well, the two of them playing with the kitten, which was climbing the bunk bed. The Scarecrow felt a twinge of annoyance. Stitches might well prove to be a problem. Guenhivyre was strong-willed, but somehow she seemed willing to obey him; however, if the Joker’s newest little bitch associated with her too long, she may give Guenhivyre too many ideas. Ideas he did not approve of.

Now it was time to intervene.

He rose from his desk and left the office, moving as quickly as his long legs would carry him. He was not strong by any standards, but he was fast and plenty agile, which he felt was more than enough to make up for his near-lack of muscle. Besides, too much of that meant his brilliant mind would suffer and his intelligence would slack. It sounded like a waking nightmare.

He found the room with little trouble; as he approached he could hear Stitches talking, though about what he had no suggestion. She was getting a little hyper from the sounds of things, and then Guenhivyre let out a ringing, musical laugh. That did it.

He threw open the door violently and it slammed against something between it and its wall space as he loomed in the doorway. He saw Guen jump in surprise and heard the cat screech.

“SONOVA—“ Stitches howled, pushing the door away from her a little.

“Oh my gosh, are you all right?! Oh my gosh, your nose is bleeding!” Guen shrieked, entering panic mode.

“Thangs. I hadn’t nodiced.” came the sarcastic response through a pinched nose that was gushing blood. Guenhivyre fumbled in her skirt pockets for a moment and pulled out a white handkerchief.

“Here, here! Use this!” she said, rushing forward, her arm outstretched. Annoyed, Crane’s hand shot out and clamped down on her wrist, halting her advance. Stitches peered around the door, furious. Guenhivyre looked up at him, her eyes wide with surprise before her brow wrinkled in confusion.

“Doctor Crane! W-why—“ she stammered, and he squeezed her wrist hard.

“The name,” he said in a deadly voice, “Is Scarecrow. And because I don’t want you frollicking about with a mongrel.”

“Who you gallin bongrel, bal?!” Stitches snarled. He chose to ignore her.

“Come along, Miss Pendragon. I have need of you.” he said, releasing her wrist. She immediately rubbed it, looking between him and her newfound friend. Clearly she was torn, and he wasn’t going to tolerate that.

“But—“ she started.

“No ‘buts’ about it. I needs must set up my equipment before I can analyze your enchanting nightmares, but clearly I cannot trust you to keep good company on your own while my back is turned. So you’ll keep mine.” he cut her off, briefly giving the girl with the bleeding nose a glare before looking back at the other one. Guenhivyre looked shocked, and ready to protest, but Stitches shook her head and made a gesture with her hand to indicate that Guen should go. Guenhivyre gave her a sympathetic look, and handed her the handkerchief.

“Keep pressure on that when you use it. It’ll help clot the bleeding a little.” she said gently, and then preceded him out the door when Stitches had given her a tiny smile and a nod. He nearly spluttered with fury, then recovered for the sake of his dignity and slammed the door behind him, his long legs striding arrogantly with each footstep. He felt Jonathan Crane diminish inside him and the Scarecrow swelled, the creature of thought becoming more a creature of action; he gained on Guenhivyre, then was beside, then dragging her behind him with his hand gripping her wrist again, and she nearly tripped as she tried to keep up.

“The Scarecrow doesn’t like it when things happen under his nose, Dragon. The Scarecrow is not happy. He prefers to know so that he may stay in control.” he snarled through the burlap. It was getting itchy again, but it only really bothered Jonathan and he was barely still concious in his own mind. He glanced behind him, at her face. Guenhivyre’s eyes were wide, but a strange light had entered them. He’d seen it before when she was talking to other Arkhamites.

She’d gone in Criminological Psychology Student mode again.

“ _Really_?” she asked with undisguised interest, “And control is important for you….Scarecrow?”

He didn’t answer, but pulled her onward toward the office, then to the one of the lab testing rooms. He was vehement in the unlocking of the door, and reluctantly released her, though to his surprise, she didn’t take off running. Instead, while he was working the handle, she patted her skirt and seemed to pull a notepad and pencil from thin air. The Scarecrow’s jaw tightened with aggravation. She was not going to visit the indignity of a therapy session on him, if he had anything to say about it. Finally he got the door open and it swung inward, clouds of dust flying in the darkness. He reached up and flicked a switch, the ceiling lights flickering on one by one as he motioned her in, and headed over to one of the larger computers to boot it up.

“Tell me, Profess—uh, Scarecrow. Control is obviously important to you. Do you often find yourself in the middle of power games with your fellow asylum inmates in order to gain that control?” Guenhivyre asked, alighting upon a lab table and crossing her legs, her pencil poised above her notepad.

“I am not insane. While I have no doubts I am certainly insane by normal standards, normal standards do not apply to someone of my genius and superiority to the writhing cesspool that is humanity.” he found himself answering defensively, as though to deny he had been in the asylum for any legitimate reason. He tried to focus on finding a way to hook up the computer to a dream helmet that the Mad Hatter had designed, but she continued to interrupt his precious thought process with incommodious interrogation.

“So you consider your mind superior to the human race?”

“I thought I just answered that.” he snapped, whipping his head around to face her and nearly hitting it against a shelf in the process.

“Well now you have, in any event,” she said dismissively, her hand flying infuriatingly fast over the notepad, the pencil scratching loudly, “Tell me, do you find any other person—fellow inmate or otherwise—to come close to your level of intellect?”

He studied her as she focused on her writing, and frowned, placing his hands on his hips and balling them into fists. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought her either bi-polar or suffering from some form of split-personality disorder. In the asylum, she’d been friendly and engaging; in her car, she was furious with him; in his facilities, she was reduced to a quivering wreck; and here, while he was working, she was as inquisitive as a nosy televised reporter. And in her nightmares, she was trapped in terror.

“You are a dichotomy, Miss Pendragon.” he said softly, now balancing his chin in one of his hands, scrutinizing her. Surprised, she looked up from her notepad and suddenly seemed very much the same girl he’d first met in Arkham. She smiled crookedly, one of the corners of her mouth turning up in a grin.

“Coming from you, I’d say that’s a compliment.” she barely kept the laughter out of her voice, and now it seemed she was almost completely the same friendly student again. Bizarre, even to the Scarecrow.

Her attention suddenly diverted to his shelves, and her eyes locked on a gold-hued manacle he’d been working on. He’d attempted to see if he could use metal to give off certain electro-magnetic waves when struck that would jolt the brain into panic, and trigger the body’s natural fear reaction. He’d all but given up when he realized that certain metals were finicky.

“What’s that?” she asked a little too politely.

“Nothing you need concern yourself with.” Jonathan Crane dismissed that one with a wave.

“You know, you didn’t answer my question.” she said, raising an eyebrow at him. He ground his teeth in annoyance, but before he had the opportunity to retort, there was a knock at the door. Guenhivyre started a little in alarm, and they both turned as the door swung inward, to reveal Stitches. Her nose was still red, but it appeared to have stopped bleeding.

“Boss would like to see you, Scarypants.” she said in a voice dripping honey-sweet with unhinged dislike. He glanced backward at the computer and Jervis Tetch’s device, and decided it could wait. After all, home advantage or not, it was not wise to deny the Joker anything when he ‘asked’ for it. Reluctantly, he nodded.

“All right then, I’ll see him.”

Stitches grinned her crooked, sharp grin and danced a little out the door, jumping from foot to foot like it was hard for her to stay still. He heard Guenhivyre dismount from her seat on the table behind him, and heard her take a few footsteps, then it stopped. Then she was standing beside him, slipping the notebook back into her skirt pocket. He gave her his best glare and was answered with a smile. Clearly she was doing something behind his back. Both Jonathan Crane and the Scarecrow snarled inwardly. They didn’t like it when people did things without telling them. But she turned off the light, and he didn’t bother to check behind on the shelves as they followed Stitches to where the Joker was waiting.


	6. A Swelling Of The Problem

For an underground dwelling, the Batcave was warm, part of its heat generated by electricity, part of it the natural geothermal properties of the location.  As far as Alfred Pennyworth was concerned, the place was a bit too warm tonight and he made sure to remark as much when Bruce came down early, livid and seeking his supercomputer's aid.

"Try wearing this cape sometime down here, Alfred.  I think you'll want to eat those words." he responded a little bitterly, annoyed as he was.  The police had radioed him via Commissioner Gordon when he was patrolling for the Joker and Stitches earlier, to inform him that the Scarecrow had pulled a fast one and made good his escape as well.  Batman had patrolled throughout the night, but had found no sign of anything that could give any indication of where Jonathan Crane was.  He'd finally arrived at the crack of dawn back at the mansion, and immediately had collapsed, exhausted, and left Alfred to haul his cataleptic form up to his room…again.  And to make matters worse, Alfred seemed on the verge of handing him more bad news.

"Sir, it appears that the asylum finally managed to capture an image on their cameras of the vehicle that Dr. Crane got away in, and the computer tapped into it.  Shall I bring it up for you?" he said.

"Yes, Alfred," Batman answered as he pulled on his mask, giving an inaudible sigh of relief.  This didn't seem so bad; indeed, despite the poor camera equipment the asylum had, it wouldn't be too big a deal to enhance and focus the image on the computer.  Alfred's fingers flew over a quick series of keys, and a new window opened, playing a scene that was fuzzy, owing to the distance between the subject and the camera.  They rewound it, slowed it, zoomed in, refocused.  The Batman watched as the Scarecrow casually approached an old Thunderbird and shot his hand inside the window of the driver's side, startling whoever was in the seat.  He stood there for a few seconds longer, then by some silent agreement, retrieved his hand and climbed in the passenger's side door.  The Thunderbird sat still for several moments, then a faint audio signal came on, the familiar wailing of the asylum's alarms, and the Thunderbird suddenly shot backward and took off, out of sight.

Frowning, he replayed the scene again, this time at a twentieth the actual speed, and zoomed in on the license plate of the Thunderbird.  It was blurry at first, but after he refocused it a few times, he was clearly able to read "DGN1864."

"Computer," he commanded, "Do a search on all used 1985 Thunderbirds, license plate number DGN1864."

"Searching." the computer answered mechanically, and hummed.  Bruce sighed, rubbing his fingers against his temples, and thought about the situation.

The Scarecrow…unleashed on my city, while the Joker's already out and about, no doubt with a contingent of his allies.  And to make matters worse, Scarecrow has found a poor, hapless victim to torment into aiding and abetting his madness.

"Found," the computer announced, "One 1985 Thunderbird, license DGN1864, owned by one Guenhivyre Pendragon."

Surprise hit the Batman like a right hook in the side.

"Pendragon?" he spluttered.

"Do you know her, sir?" Alfred asked calmly as the computer brought up the image of a sweet-faced brunette with startling green eyes.

"I met her just recently, at the charity party for the library.  What was she doing at Arkham?" he muttered, scowling at the screen as though demanding answers he expected the computer should be able to give.  Frustrated, he adjusted his gloves and made for the Batmobile, his plan constructing itself as he went.

"Is there something wrong, sir?" Alfred inquired, dutifully following close behind him.

"I have to pay the asylum a visit," he responded, "Perhaps someone there will tell me why Miss Pendragon was there, and who saw her."

"Of course, sir."

Within seconds, the vast armored black terror of a car was roaring through the streets of Gotham city, on its way to the house of hell and lunacy.

***

Batman always gained entry to Arkham Asylum, whether or not any dared to object at his presence.  He swept through the hall like an overgrown, malicious shadow, and entered the office of Dr. Avery, who was in the process of berating a pair of security guards and a shamefaced orderly.  Once Avery had said his piece and the lectured exited, Batman swept up behind him, his towering form and long shadow finally startling Avery out of his silent fuming.

"Ba-Batman!  What are you doing here?!" Avery squeaked.

"The image on your security camera shows the Scarecrow getting away in a 1985 Thunderbird, yesterday, late afternoon," he said bluntly, and while the little man fumbled for words, he went on, "The same Thunderbird owned by one Guenhivyre Pendragon.  Tell me what she was doing here."

"W-wh-how?  Oh, no!  Not Miss Pendragon!" Fenton groaned, burying his face in his hands.

"What was she doing here?" Batman repeated, this time putting more force behind the question, "Don't beat around the bush with me, Avery."

"We-well…Miss Pendragon came to us several months ago, with the request to come once a week on Wednesday afternoons in order to study the inmates as part of her Criminal Psychology Class.  She was here to visit them, like she's been doing," he answered, then seemed to draw inside himself, horror etching itself on his features as he murmured, "Oh, God.  If they find out, they're going to kill me for this."

"Who did she visit yesterday?  I want names, Avery." Batman snapped, furious at this new revelation.  Was the girl really that crazy?  Didn't she understand what she'd gotten herself into?

"Err…I believe it was Edward Nygma, Jervis Tetch, and…J-Jonathan Crane."

Batman ground his teeth silently and swept from the room, striding silently as a shade, and made his way to the hall where the more…unique residents of the asylum were kept.  Several of the cells began to buzz with murmurs as he passed, no doubt owing to their inhabitants being troubled by his presence.  He made straightaway for Nygma's cell, partly because it was nearest, and partly because something in his gut told him it was the right place to be.  Immediately his mind rebelled; surely he would get nothing useful from Edward Nygma that wasn't cleverly encrypted in the form of a conundrum, but before he knew it, he was at the cell and a stuttering guard was hastily opening the window-slot in the door for him.  Inside there came an awkard sound of movement, and a murmur of surprise before Batman found himself staring into a pair of bright blue eyes, lit with a strange fire.

"Batman," the Riddler murmured, smiling coyly, "What a surprise.  To what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit?"

"Guenhivyre Pendragon was here yesterday.  She visited you, I hear." Batman returned bluntly, getting right to the point, and had to work to hide his astonishment when Edward's face softened a little at the mention of Guen's name.

"Why…yes.  In fact, she even graced me with the kindness of a belated birthday present.  Is something wrong?" he said.

"Miss Pendragon has disappeared.  Security cameras reveal the Scarecrow escaping yesterday, and taking her and her car hostage."

The Riddler's features, if seeming concerned before, contorted in an astonishing display of shock and outrage.

"No!  Not Guen!" he cried, "Not her!!  You are not playing some twisted, cruel joke on me, Batman?"

"I only wish I was, Nygma." Batman responded, his mind reeling from the reaction he had least expected to get from the egotistical Riddler.

"Scarecrow…How dare he!" the brunette man fumed for a moment, then he looked at Batman expectantly, worrying spreading over his features.  "Forgive me, Batman.  Please, I know you are unquestionably already busy, but please!  Find Miss Pendragon!  When I think of what that monster might be doing to her…" His voice trailed off and he cast his blue eyes down, chewing the skin of his thumb fretfully.

"Don't worry, Nygma," Batman answered, "We'll get her back."

And with that, he spun on his heel, ready to go interrogate Jervis Tetch, his resolve hardening like a sword being forged.  As he walked on, he thought he heard the Riddler whisper, "Oh indeed.  We will, Batman.  There's no mystery about that," a soft, hidden threat in his voice.  But that was impossible.  The stress of the situation was wearing hard on Bruce, and making him hear things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the event you've somehow made it this far, I think it's fair to inform you that this chapter sort of became the turning point for the entire fanfic. Originally my concept for it was vastly, vastly different, but around this point I had hit a bit of writer's block, and to my recollection, was having issues with the friend who owned the OC "Stitches". I had somehow cranked out this chapter regardless, but from this point on until around chapter 14 or 16, my pacing and my writing in this overall is very weak and not well done, due to my attempts to maintain what I'd already written but transition the story into the new direction it was going. Again, I'd recommend just reading the meta I've got written for this fic instead.


	7. Let Us Be Partners, Then.

His reverie of that most wonderful place where he went to when he needed the rest was abruptly shattered when he'd heard the news.

He'd been once more frolicking through the meadows of talking flowers and edible mushrooms that overlapped thoughts of wielding power over the human brain and manipulation of the weak-minded, when he'd heard the Batman's voice rip through his peaceful thoughts, like the throaty hunting growl of a jabberwock, ready to kill.

"Miss Pendragon has disappeared.  Security cameras reveal the Scarecrow escaping yesterday, and taking her and her car hostage."

Almost at once his eyes withdrew from that inner world, and he sat bolt upright on his cot, listening intently.

"No!  Not Guen!" he heard a different voice cry, "Not her!!  You are not playing some twisted, cruel joke on me, Batman?"

"That would be dear Nygma, then." Jervis Tetch, the Mad Hatter, proclaimed under his breath.  At once his mind began to race.  The lovely, sweet Miss Pendragon?  Kidnapped by his friend, Jonathan Crane?  Why, it was simply preposterous!  For one thing, the Scarecrow never took hostages, and for another, the man knew absolutely not the first thing about women!

"I only wish I was, Nygma." Batman responded, and there seemed to be a hint of confusion in his voice.  Well, that was curious.  That brute of a man rarely ever sounded confused, the cocky barbarian that he was.  The conversation from outside Jervis's cell continued, but he paid little more attention to it than that.

_The Batman thrown off his game?  Jonathan, abducting a woman?    Curiouser and curiouser!_   Jervis mused to himself.   _Why, I do wonder what Jonathan intends to do with Miss Pendragon.  Surely…he means to use her as a test subject in one of those blasted fear experiments of his!  No, that I cannot allow to happen, even if he is my friend!  After all, Miss Pendragon is my Alice.  I cannot let any harm come to her, not to her, not to the Queen of MY heart.  I'm the Mad Hatter!  And she is my lovely, winged White Queen!  My ALICE!!_

These thoughts kept him occupied for a good deal of the night, and he even was preoccupied with them when the Batman himself came and tried to start an interrogation, but things only got more curious by the next morning, when a new voice was talking outside the cell, and again to the Riddler…

***

No conundrums, no riddles, no puzzles, no mysteries could hold his attention, no matter how hard he tried to take his mind off of the situation at hand.  It was a far greater riddle than most he'd faced before.

The Scarecrow had kidnapped Guenhivyre Pendragon!

But WHY?!

WHY?!?!?

What reason would that terror-obsessed nightmare have for doing such a thing?  Eddy had sat through many a counseling session alongside Jonathan Crane, and it was apparent that the man cared for no one but himself, and thought everyone inferior to him and his intelligence.  He alone seemed to speak of Guen's visits with amused disdain, and had, on more than one occasion, scorned her along with the rest of the world's females before Edward.  It made no sense then, that he should simply up and throw a leash around poor Guen.

"Why" was the question.

But the Riddler found himself unable to answer it.

For hours, he'd snarled and beat his hands against the walls in frustration, or else simply sat, shaking with fury and staring at his hands, white-knuckled as they gripped his knees.

It wasn't until the early hours of the morning, when most of the other inmates were sleeping, that he pulled out the Rubix cube Guenhivyre had given him as a birthday gift, and out of a sheer need to preoccupy his aggravated mind, set to solving it.  On and on his fingers flew, twisting the many faucets of the cube round and round and round again, snapping here, turning there, until quite abruptly, something fell into place and there was a tiny click.  Surprised, Eddy snapped out of his daze and watched as the solved cube began to glow on all sides, a bright green question mark in the center of each side of the cube, and a recording of Guen's voice began to play.

_"Congratulations and happy birthday, Eddy!  I knew it wouldn't take you long to solve the puzzle, even though I tried to get the guy to make it way harder than normal.  You have no idea how happy I am to hear that Dr. Avery and the staff at Arkham are considering you for early release.  I knew you could do it, and I can't wait until the day I can take you out for coffee!  Like I promised you when we met, remember?  I'm so happy for you, Eddy, and I'm wishing you luck!  I hope you enjoyed the puzzle, and happy birthday, again!  Guen."_

Unbidden, tears came to the Riddler's eyes as he listened to the recording, and it was only by taking several steadying breaths that he was able to stop them from turning him into a human hosepipe.

"Oh, Guen.  You've always been so kind to me.  And here I am, unable to help you when you need it the most.  I'm a failure as a friend to you." he murmured.

"Edward Nygma?" came a voice from outside his cell.  He looked up and winced at the sudden bright light as the door opened, revealing the silhouette of Dr. Fenton Avery, tentatively edging into the room.  "Nygma, you have a visitor."

For a heartbeat, Eddy was filled with the wild hope that it was Guen, but then reality came crashing back to him and he presented the doctor with a scowl.

"What is it now, _doctor_?" he sneered, but before he could continue, a second figure came into the room, towering above them all.  This man was over six feet tall, with fierce features and dressed in a sleek black suit, and he met Edward's stare for stare.  It took him a moment, but as the Riddler studied the man, he couldn't stop himself from releasing an inaudible gasp.

Though tall and well-built, like a sleek, honed rapier, the man had such dark hair, such pale skin, and such green eyes, he looked like he could have been Guenhivyre's male doppelganger!  
"Mr. Nygma, may I have the pleasure of introducing Mr.-" Dr. Avery began, but fell short as the man stepped forward and extended a hand for Edward to shake.

"Pendragon.  Logann Pendragon, of Dragon's Blood Inc."

Eddy could only stare dumbly, his mouth agape.

"Mr. Pendragon has offered a significant sum of money to ensure your early, safe return into society." Dr. Avery threw in, coughing behind his hand.

"Ah, uh….um…" Eddy stuttered helplessly, catching himself at last second and taking Logann Pendragon's hand and shaking it.  "I…err…you have my eternal gratitude, Mr. Pendragon…"

"Indeed, but I don't do this for charity, Mr. Nygma.  You see, there is a member of my family whom I've been searching for, for a great deal of time.  I understand that not only has she recently been kidnapped, but also that you have gained her trust and friendship during her visitations to this establishment." Logann spoke, and his voice was rich and deep, and sent shivers of fright racing up Eddy's spine.

_Who is this man?_ he wondered.

"Ahh, I…have become close with a Miss Pendragon, if this is the same person of which we both speak.  But why would my relationship with her drive you to get me released?" he asked aloud, standing up to stare Pendragon in the eyes.

"Because," Logann answered, "I want to you to steal my sister back for me.  After all, if I'm going to steal from a criminal…as they say, it takes one to know one."

***

"Oh, do lie still, Guenhivyre!"  the Scarecrow snarled, struggling to latch the young woman to the table and hook her up to the dream helmet, though it was obvious he was losing the battle.

"You never said anything about having to tie me down!" she cried, fighting to get up.  Ulysses, not twitching for once, grappled to keep her down and latch the other strap.

"You're forgetting that you're the one who _begged_ me to let you be a guinea pig, dear Guenhivyre!" the Scarecrow shot back, fixing her with one of his more violent glares, its effect only amplified by his mask, and for the first time since Ulysses had thrown her onto the operating table did she quiet, trembling at the sight of him.  Quickly he and his poor assistant finished strapping her down, and he forced the dream helmet onto her head.  Though frustrated, the Scarecrow found himself somewhat pleased.  This was the first time he'd been able to frighten Guenhivyre Pendragon into submission.  Clearly the little snit was beginning to learn her lesson, and he intended to keep this up, until she couldn't even glance in his direction without being overcome by waves of pure terror!

Gleefully, he wrung his long fingered hands and turned to the keyboard of the computer, ready to put Miss Pendragon to sleep so he could examine her nightmares.

"S-sir…are you sure this is safe…?  I-I don't m-mean to be d-disrespectful, b-b-but…we don't even know if the Mad Hatter's t-technology is compatible with D-Doctor Strange's…." Ulysses piped up, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, clearly nervous.  The Scarecrow turned to regard his assistant with a long-suffering stare.  The poor man was simply too concerned for the well-being of all for his own good.

"I have the utmost confidence in your abilities, Ulysses.  All will be well." he answered simply before returning his attention to the screen before him.

"Great.  Why is it that _I_ am not sharing these sentiments?" he heard Guen mutter, and feeling he'd quite had enough, the Scarecrow threw a switch, sending his human specimen into an artificial dreaming state.  Guen simply made a tiny sigh before her brainwave activity appeared on the monitor, and the Scarecrow began to click several keys in succession, to begin the process of warping her dreams into nightmares.

_At first, she didn't know where she was.  Some back alley in the heart of Gotham, if the architecture was anything to go by.  She felt so enclosed, so claustrophobic.  Shivering, teeth chattering, Guenhivyre Pendragon began hastily rubbing her forearms to rid them of gooseflesh, but when she tried to go any further, the area around her only seemed to darken and she shivered worse than before._

_"W-where am I?" she murmured aloud, unsure of what else to do?_

_"Why, at my tea party, my dear Alice." came a chipper response from behind her that sent cold talons raking down her spine.  Slowly, she turned about and saw behind her the image of the tea party from Alice in Wonderland, but it was twisted, dark, and haunted-looking, and Jervis Tetch, the Mad Hatter, sat leaning forward, a leer on his face like a human Cheshire Cat._

_"J-Jervis?  Wh-what?" she gasped.  Not again!  Not two nightmares about him in a row!  She tried to move, but her legs seemed rooted to the spot, and the motion flung her hair about her face.  At least, it should have been her hair, but the locks she saw were blond, not brunette._

_Shit!  She was wearing that damn wig!_

_In a desperate panic, she reached up and attempted to yank it off, but felt her own hair being pulled, as though she were ripping IT out by the roots.  As she struggled, she saw Jervis rise from his chair and slowly begin to come toward her, that leer never leaving his face._

_"No!  No, stay back!" she cried, but still he kept coming._

_"You see, Pendragon?  This is what happens when stupid little college girls get involved with inmates at Arkham!" she heard the Batman's voice echoing from everywhere and nowhere at once.  Her heart began to pound more fiercely than it had been, and she struggled, trying to run, trying to remove the blonde wig, failing at both._

_"Now, now my dear.  Just calm down, and we can have a delightful tea." Jervis said in a menacing voice, his eyes glittering coldly._

_"NO!" Guen screamed, still trying to wrench her legs into motion.  She felt something grab her wrist and she cried out, saw Jervis leering at her, saw his fast tighten on her, despite the spiked wristband she wore!_

_"LET GO OF ME!!" she screamed, and struggled, fought his grip, kicked at him, but she may as well have been striking at shadows for all the effectiveness this had.  The Mad Hatter only began to laugh madly, displaying all his teeth as he threw back his head, and moved to grab her other arm.  She flung it away and realized she was still wearing the bracelet that she'd snitched from Dr. Crane's office.  That was odd; she hadn't recalled when she'd put it on._

_"Not a chance, my dear Alice." Jervis responded to her cries, and began to lean in toward her face.  Frightened, she swung her free hand around, trying to hit him, but instead, somehow, oddly, she struck the bracelet against the wristband._

_"IMPOSSIBLE!!" She heard a voice shout, but she couldn't tell where it'd come from; in fact, it was difficult to tell anything, as the world began to spin around her.  The images overlapped and suddenly, she went from the mad tea party to the Scarecrow's lab, back to the tea party, then back again._

_"Sir, w-what's happening?!" she heard a voice shout.  Funny, that sounded like Twitch…er, Ulysses.  She felt like a phantom or something, partway between the scenes of the Mad Hatter and the Scarecrow.  Slowly, she sat up, the scene focusing on the lab, and shook her head and turned to the Scarecrow and Ulysses "Twitch" Cutter.  But they were both staring at her, openmouthed and awestruck._

_"I have no idea, Ulysses.  No idea whatsoever." she heard the Scarecrow answer in a voice.  She was beginning to recognize that tone of voice: he always seemed to use it when he became fascinated with a new test subject._

"W-why are you looking at me like that?" Guen asked, and reached up to rub the sand from her eyes.  But something was wrong.  She couldn't feel her hand, couldn't feel her face…

Blinking, she pulled her hand away and stared at it, confused.  It was there, but…not there…She could barely see it one minute, then it was more defined the next, and transparent all the while.

Insides growing cold, Guen slowly raised both hands, watching the bracelet and the wristband float upward, and when she brought her fingers together, they passed partway through each other before catching on something.

She screamed at the top of her lungs, tears streaming from her terrified eyes.

***

The job was going to be too easy.  She could tell that right from the start; for one thing, the place was a penthouse with next to no security measures whatsoever, and the object of desire was right out in plain sight.  Still, there was no fire escape, and no easy way onto the roof, not to mention the fact the penthouse was ten stories up there.  At least that made things semi-interesting.

"Now, now, my dear.  No need to get fidgety at the last second." the Penguin remarked, noting her shifting position, though he seemed to read it as anxiety.

"I don't like it, Ozzy." Trick Deck answered, lowering the binoculars and turning to face him.  "This has got to be a set-up; look! There's barely any security system around the piece itself, and I could take out the penthouse alarm from here."

He smiled reassuringly, his unique charm surfacing as he responded, "I have no doubts you could, my dicing lady.  And the lack of defense is precisely what  piqued my interest.  If it is indeed a ruse, it's poorly executed and no one, save our chiropteran adversary, has the means by which to get up there and stop us.  And if it isn't, it will teach Mr. Pendragon that he needs to invest in a more reliable means of protection of his belongings."

Trick Deck smiled warmly at him.  She loved it when Ozzy complimented her, especially if it meant he was displaying confidence in her.  And he was right, only the bloody Batman could catch them, which, she thought with a frown, there was a good chance he would.

"Now, shall we begin?" the Penguin asked his protégé pleasantly, and all pessimistic thoughts vanished as he shot a wire from a pistol to the penthouse.  This was the part that always interested her, setting up the wire.  Somehow he managed to angle the gun's trajectory so the wire continued to extend and at the same time, come back to them.  He refused to explain the dynamics to her, and she stubbornly insisted that if he didn't she would figure it out for herself, much to his amusement.  She'd almost got it figured out, but she still wasn't sure how he fit the birds into the whole equation.

There were mostly owls with them tonight, but he'd also brought along a few raptors, and two other nocturnal breeds she couldn't yet identify.  Normally they kept a lookout, and every once in a while, he used them as a means of defense, but sometimes the Penguin had his birds help him cross the wires.  Trick Deck had never quite seen how that had worked; even around her, Oswald Cobblepot kept his secret closely guarded, ensuring that at least two of his raptors caused her enough problems to get him across without her seeing.  And that's what he did this time, with two of the falcons going after her hair and her card deck, screeching loudly.  She snarled and finally batted them away, only to look up and find her mentor on the other side of the street, leaning as flat back against the ledge of the penthouse as he could, smiling wanly, moonlight glinting off his monocle.

"Something wrong, my sweet student?" he asked innocently, "You're not over here yet."  And with that, one of his owls flew up in her face, screeched, and dropped a motor in her hands.  Sighing, she pushed back her hair and removed her green visor, tucking it securely on her belt, and latched the motor onto the wire.

_C'mon, I can do this…_ she mentally braced herself, and with a deep breath, she leapt from the rooftop into the open air.  Her heart raced with thrill as she dropped, and then jarred as the wire and motor caught her weight.  She swung her legs forward, and the motor began to winch its way up and across toward the penthouse.  In moments, she reached the ledge and had solid footing again.  They jumped onto the balcony, and the Penguin gestured for her to go ahead, his awkward, mutated, three-fingered flipper of a hand gesturing at the glass door.  She nodded, and drew from her pocket one of her dice, this one with sharpened corners, designed specially for this very purpose.

She carefully put one of the corners to the glass, and slowly, gently started to drag it in a huge loop, large enough for a human to fit through if need be, and in this case, two humans needed to, and one of them was larger than normal.  At last, the two points of the cut met and she pulled the dice out, bringing with it the oval of glass she'd cut.  It was heavier than she'd expected, but she still managed to move the piece and set it to the ground without cutting her hands or shattering it.

"Excellent work, my dear.  After you." Penguin said, hooting a little on the last words, and she nodded curtly, flicking a second die and knocking out the simple laser beam alarm near the door before she stepped in through the opening.  She waited until Ozzy came in after her, and surveyed her surroundings.  Sparsely furnished with a few paintings, a couple chairs and a sofa, the most impressive piece sat in the very center of the living room atop a raised pedestal in a glass case, a 24-karat gold, ruby- and emerald-encrusted, two foot-tall falcon statuette.

That was what bothered her.  The thing was on display like it should be in a museum, not some rich guy's apartment.  And it was an avian piece of all things, which called to Oswald Cobblepot like a bloody beacon.  It was the most obvious trap EVER, but did he even stop to consider her warning?  Noooooo…..

Greed glinting in his eyes, the Penguin slowly approached the statuette, shouldering his umbrella, and Trick Deck tentatively followed, all her senses on alert for some sort of indicator of an ambush or the like.

They crossed the living room, and nothing happened.

He got within inches of the case, and nothing happened.

He caressed the glass, practically salivating, and still nothing happened!

"Eh?  What is this?" he said unexpectedly, and she rushed to his side, ready to defend him at a moment's notice, but it turned out all it was, was a simple keypad on the pedestal.  It was blinking, like awaiting a password, but instead of the typical prompt, the line on the screen was much longer.

" 'Black we are, and much admired,

Men seek for us if they're tired…'" the Penguin read.

" 'We tire the horse, but comfort man,

Tell me this riddle if you can.'" Trick Deck finished, scowling, "This has Edward Nygma written all over it!  I knew it was a trap from the start!"

"Agghh, he would give a hard one!  Bollocks and bird feed, Trick Deck!" the Penguin swore, "Break the glass on this one too!"

"No need for that," remarked a calm voice, "We're willing to negotiate."

Trick Deck and the Penguin spun as one, her fists raised, his lethal umbrella in hand.  A tall, stick-thin man with long black hair, dressed in a form-fitting green suit with a black question mark and a green domino mask, spun a hooked cane as he leaned nonchalantly against the wall behind them.

"Riddler!  What's the meaning of this?" the Penguin demanded, not lowering his umbrella.  Trick Deck tensed, ready to spring.  The Riddler was no Batman, but this still didn't bode well for them.  But to her surprise, the skinny man shrugged and brushed back a few of his long locks.

"A…proposal, if you may, Pengy.  You see, I know you have the ear of most of the crime network's bosses, and I have need of your resources.  I'm on a…manhunt of sorts." he said, a cocky half-grin spreading crookedly over his face.

"What does that have to do with my burgling a rare catch like the Freemason Falcon from Pendragon?" the Penguin said slowly.

"Simple," the Riddler replied, taking a few steps closer, "I was hired to look for a certain someone by Mr. Pendragon himself, and at my request, he has graciously agreed to give you the Freemason Falcon if you and your…tyro here offer me your help."

"Sounds a little too good to be true to me," Trick Deck remarked, bristling at his remark, "How do we know Mr. Pendragon's going to keep his word and not turn us over to the authorities after he's got his body?"

"Turn _all_ of us over." the Penguin corrected with emphasis, waving his umbrella in a circle to indicate all three of them.  To their vast surprise, the Riddler's face softened into a sad look, and he pulled out a pair of photos, one of a young man they knew as the famous Logann Pendragon, the other of a young girl who bore a striking resemblance to the millionaire.

"Because Guenhivyre is Logann's younger sister.  He's been trying to find her for years, and is willing to go to 'extreme lengths' to ensure he gets her back to the family, safe and sound." the Riddler said softly and the Penguin scratched his chin in thought.

"I'd heard of a Guenhivyre that visits Arkham once a week.  Would this be the same intrepid young lady, then?" he asked, and when the Riddler nodded affirmation, the Penguin went on, "So what's in it for you?  The early parole?  Or something else?"

"Perhaps I'll tell you, perhaps not," the Riddler shot back, suddenly hostile, "It all depends on whether or not you agree to the partnership."

The Penguin looked hard between him and the falcon, clearly torn.  Trick Deck, worrying, tried running through in her mind what she could possibly do to gain them an advantage, when her eyes happened upon the password screen again.

"The riddle!" she exclaimed suddenly, and when the two men looked at her, she said quickly, following a whim, "Tell us the answer to the riddle, and we'll agree to the partnership.  We don't need your reasons right now, but if the offer's got no strings, then you'll tell us the answer to your riddle before we shake hands on anything!"

Ozzy gave her another praising look and she glowed, pleased with her quick thinking.

"Tch!  I do believe your pupil can be a little too clever for her own good, Pengy.  I'd watch that if I were you." the Riddler hissed.

"The answer, or we're leaving!" the Penguin shot back, stepping between the two of them.  Edward Nygma gnashed his teeth together, furious.

" _Fine_!" he responded venomously, "Coal.  The answer is coal!"

"Deal!" the Penguin answered cheerily, extending his flippered hand, "Now, tell us more about this Guenhivyre Pendragon…"


	8. Wraith

"Marvelous!  Simply superlative!" the Scarecrow was practically hissing with glee, wringing his hands as he approached Guen.

"What's happening to me?!" she shrieked, staring at him wide-eyed.  Oh, the deliciousness of her fright was purely wonderful!  He eyed her eagerly, taking in her panic like a child hoarding Christmas gifts.  This entire thing was absolutely delightful!

"An unexpected malfunction, it seems," he responded nonchalantly, then shot a pointed look at her wrists, "And I must say, Guenhivyre, I'm not in the least annoyed that you so openly wear my technology.  It seems to have partially been the cause of this."

"WHAT?!" she squeaked, looking at the manacle in horror.

"Sh-she's like a ghost…" Ulysses said somewhere behind him, still stunned.

"Indeed, Miss Pendragon is insubstantial.  A ghost for sure, my dear Mr. Cutter." the Scarecrow answered, leering hungrily at his young test subject.

"I'm what?" she gasped, but he ignored the question and strode right up to her, wrapped his long fingers around the floating manacle and wristband, and brought the two together with a resounding clang.  At once Guen became substantial again, screaming louder, and he found himself midway between sheer amusement and annoyance at nearly becoming deaf.

"It appears that when my manacle and your wristband meet, the results are somewhat…" he chuckled, "alarming."

At this, she scrambled, trying to get them off, but he tightened his grip, looked her in the eyes and she froze.  His mind was already beginning to turn this to his advantage, and he wasn't about to let her stop that.

"Now now, Guenhivyre," he crooned in a soft, deadly voice, "While I love your fear, you need to settle down.  This could be rewarding for you."

"Rewarding?" she parroted, her eyebrows narrowing, and he felt his frustration begin to build again.  The girl was suspicious beyond normal reason, and that could well prove to be a problem.  However, the Scarecrow reined in his temper and forced his voice to stay pleasant.

"Of course!  After all, did you not want to better get to know me and my line of work?  Is that not the reason you _always_ made it a point to visit me in Arkham?" he purred, and she relaxed a bit, nodding slowly.  "What better way than to become a part of it?  Join me, Guenhivyre, and together we shall make Gotham realize a terror it will never escape from!"

She stared at him for a long moment, clearly weighing the decision.  He mulled over it, nearly salivating at the prospect that lay before him.  He knew several of the other Arkhamites had taken on protégés, both in the last couple years and extremely recently, but he'd previously scorned the practice; but now, with as devoted as Pendragon seemed to be, she could easily assist his plans for turning Gotham into a horde of chaos and fear.  Now, all he needed was for her to agree.

Finally, Guen said defeatedly, "I'll need a name…and an outfit."

"Oh, I'm more than positive that we can acquire both for you, my dear," the Scarecrow answered, removing the dream helmet gingerly, "So long as you remember that my authority overrides everyone else's, and that you must do as I say."

She opened her mouth to protest, when the door burst open and two young girls burst into the room, one of them pointing a pair of Uzi's at him.

The gun slinging yahoo was mocha-colored, with brunette hair and brown eyes, and wore a pinstriped shirt that clashed horribly with her jeans and combat boots, and a blue bow was tucked in her hair.  The other girl was a curly redhead with a dog collar and a spade-shaped tag and wore darker clothes as she shifted behind the first girl.

Oh lord, they kept getting younger and younger.  Neither one could be older than sixteen, and both were clearly part of Joker's Card Deck gang, from the Spades division.

"Don't move," the pinstriped one said coldly, "I heard screams coming from here, and it's disturbed the boss's sleep."

"Oh, uh…that was me." Guen responded meekly, a blush darkening her pale cheeks.  The Scarecrow snorted, and tossed the helmet over his shoulder, hearing it caught by a fumbling and startled Ulysses.

"And the Joker simply allows his help to break down the door of his host without knocking?  Even he must have taught you better manners than that." he snapped, his mask contorting in his annoyance.  The gunner focused her Uzi's on him, eyes narrowing.

"Watch it, strawhead.  I don't like your tone; it's awful cocky coming from a stuffed doll." she said, baring her teeth in a grin.

"I'll go let Mr. J. know that everything's okay." the redhead said, tapping her associate on the shoulder.

"Sure, Ace." the other one answered, not even bothering to look at her, keeping her guns at the ready.  The redhead rolled her eyes, turned, and stalked off, leaving an awkward silence in her wake.

"Uhh….it…it seems we haven't met properly, have we?" Guen asked hesitantly, drawing the girl's attention as she carefully slid from the table.  "My name's Guenhivyre Pendragon."  She extended her hand for a shake, but the teenager continued to aim for a long moment.  The Scarecrow was about ready to teach her a lesson, already popping his shoulders out of their appropriate positions, when the little chit finally lowered her firearms into their holsters and stepped forward, taking Pendragon's hand into a firm, yet friendly shake.

"I'm Banshee, Six of Spades in the Joker's Card Deck, and I've heard about you.  Boss tells all the divisions of the Deck about Arkham.  The Spades run the boss's operations in the south district of Gotham.  I'm kind of his personal bodyguard." she said.

"The Joker's personal bodyguard?!  But surely you can't be older than fifteen!" Guen exclaimed, startled, and the Scarecrow rolled his eyes.  Hadn't she discerned a pattern of all these teenagers risings in the henchman's ranks by now?

"So?  You don't seem much older yourself," Banshee remarked, "By the way, are you afraid of ghosts?"

"No…Why??" Guen responded, puzzled, causing the Scarecrow to smack his palm to his face.  People who feared ghosts, though interesting to study as any other phobic, were less often frightened and therefore not capable of being studied in the midst of an attack as well as other test subjects.

It was then that something clicked and turned in his mind as he considered the two girls conversing still before him, and he grinned, his mask stretching to the point of almost ripping at the seams.

"Ahhhh, I have it!  Guenhivyre, from this point forward, you are Wraith." he murmured, reaching out to cup her chin in his gloved hand, drawing her attention.

"Wraith?" she echoed, and Banshee arched an eyebrow curiously.

"Yes," he answered, talking more to himself than anyone else present, "A formidable and terrifying spirit twisted by the darkness in which it dwells, capable of paralyzing with a glance, killing with a mere touch!  The very black cloak of despair and fright that haunts the dreams and torments the minds of every man, woman, and child of Gotham!  A wraith.   _The_ Wraith!"

"Does he ever shut up?" Banshee asked Guen, crossing her arms over her chest and ruining his fierce monologue.  He regarded her with disdain, readying for a snarl of indignance, when he considered her clothes for a moment and then Guenhivyre.  Hadn't the girl mentioned something about an outfit not a few minutes ago?

"Dr. Crane?  What's wrong?" Guenhivyre asked, and this time he did snarl, tightening his grip on her chin until she yelped with pain.

" _Scarecrow_ ," he ground out through clenched teeth, "And don't forget it again, you stupid female!"  He released her as tears came to her eyes, and flung her toward Banshee, who caught her and glared daggers at him.  "Go!  Have the little hoodlum there outfit you appropriate to your name before you retire for the evening.  I expect you to be dressed in what you pick by morning, so I may see and approve!"

Guenhivyre stared at him, tears pouring down her cheeks, but she managed to swallow audibly and when she spoke, her voice was steady.  "Yes….Scarecrow."  Her back trembled strangely, and he could only assume her wings were fluttering in despair.  Banshee led her from the room, comforting her quietly, but stopped at the door to glare at him again.  Once they were out of sight and hearing, he spat with disdain.

"Pathetic!" he said derisively, marching around and snatching the dream helmet from Ulysses, who flinched, and replaced it on one of the shelves before moving to shut down Dr. Strange's old computer.

"S-sir?" Ulysses Cutter queried nervously.

"What?" the Scarecrow snapped.

"Umm…w-what's pathetic?" he blurted out.

"Hmm?  Oh.  Miss Pendragon, that's what!"

"….Sir…?"

"The little fool has a lot to learn if she intends to uphold this affiliation she's agreed to, the first thing being stop tearing up and weeping whenever things get rough for her!  If she doesn't, I'll see to it she learns the hard way."  the Scarecrow promised.

"P-Professor!  Surely you won't h-harm Miss Pendragon?" Ulysses squeaked,  spreading his shaking hands in a helpless, pleading gesture.

The man was definitely too empathetic for his own good, but at least he could be controlled with a few reassuring words.  The Scarecrow grinned, his mask warping what was meant to be a gesture to set the man's mind at rest.

"Of course I won't, Ulysses.  Miss Pendragon-Wraith, now-is purely too exquisite a creature to break.  I assure you, I won't… _harm_ the girl." he chuckled evilly.

Never mind that while Jonathan Crane may have some moral ethics with breaking a promise, the Scarecrow never did.

***

"Hey Bruce, what's going on?  I walk in the door and the first thing out of Alfred's mouth about what's going on is that you're down at the computer still trying to work out the Pendragon case at almost midnight."

Batman, still in uniform, turned to regard his ward, nodding.

"Neither Miss Pendragon's roommate or her boss have heard from her, making it safe to assume she's been cut off from a way to make human contact." he answered.

"Who did the report say she was kidnapped by?" Dick Grayson asked, moving around to get in his own uniform.

"The Scarecrow." Batman responded in that ominous way of his.  Dick drew in a sympathetic breath and made a low whistle.

"Dang.  Of all the crazies to get abducted by!  I knew Guen liked to study criminal minds, but I would've thought she'd know better than to give Jonathan Crane a handhold on her." he remarked, putting on his mask.

"What?" Batman blurted out, arching an eyebrow.

"Yeah, Guen's in my Criminal Psychology class; top grades too.  The prof helped her plead a case to allow her to visit Arkham every Wednesday so she could better study the subject, hands-on.  But I would've thought even she knew better than to visit the really dangerous inmates."

"Dr. Fenton Avery said much the same thing," Batman remarked, turning back to his computer, "And to make matters worse, now Jervis Tetch's all worked up.  He said nothing useful to me when I went to interrogate him last night, but it was clear that even he was upset by this whole thing."

"The Mad Hatter?  What's he got to do with any of this?" Robin asked as he came back around the corner.

"He was one of the patients that Guenhivyre Pendragon visited the day the Scarecrow kidnapped her.  The other two were Jonathan Crane himself, and Edward Nygma.  Strangely enough, it was Nygma who nearly broke down in tears when I told him about it." Batman answered.

"Nygma?  I heard…."

"What?" the Dark Knight demanded, making Robin jump.

"I heard that Edward Nygma was released from Arkham earlier this morning, that some employer wanted him for a job that "only someone of his genius" could do." the Boy Wonder said slowly.

"Greeeaaaaat," came the sarcastic quip, "That's all we need.  At least his reason for absence from the asylum is going to be a legitimate one."

"Warning," the computer broke in abruptly, flashing a red screen, "Warning!  Outside terminal attempting to connect.  Access currently denied."

"Someone wants to talk to us?" Robin wondered.

"Computer, scan for any hidden threats from the foreign signal." Batman commanded, and the machine fell silent for a handful of seconds.

"No threat detected," it answered, "Grant access?"

"Patch it through." he confirmed.

The red screen ceased immediately, filling with the image of a handsome young man in a dominoe mask and a leather jacket emblazoned with an "I."  He leaned forward, elbows on an unseen surface, long locks of dark hair framing his recently tanned face, steepling his fingers as he smiled jovially.

"Salutations, Dark Knight!" he said in a deep, silky voice, "My thanks for allowing me this extreme privilege of speaking with you.  It took me a while to find out how to contact you, and I must say, when I met with your computer's firewall I was quite concerned that you wouldn't allow me to have contact."

"You can save your thanks for now," Batman answered, "I'm more curious to know who exactly you are.  Not everyone can find out how to tap into my system, let alone find it."

"Ah, ah, ah!" the man answered, waggling an accusing index finger, "Not so fast, Batman!  We're at a bit of an impass here; I don't know your daytime identity, but I'm not so thick as to just go ahead and give you mine, point advantage.  As our mutual relationship stands, please, just call me Incubus."

_A male sex demon that preys upon its victims in their sleep_ , he thought, storing that in his memory for later.  This was getting interesting, fast.

"Incubus?" Robin said at his side, snorting increduously.  The man on the screen smiled at the college kid, nodding almost imperceptibly before he continued.

"Incubus," he confirmed, "And now I'm sure you're curious as to why I contacted you?"

"Of course," Batman jumped back in, narrowing his eyes, "It's not often I get a "house" call."

"Of course," Incubus echoed, "You see, I'm looking for a Miss Guenhivyre Pendragon.  It's reached my ears that she was recently abducted by a criminal who escaped Arkham Asylum-"

"Geez, is everyone freaking out about Guen?" Robin asked Batman under his breath, though clearly not quietly enough.

"I beg your pardon??" Incubus asked.

"Long story," Batman cut him off before any more off-topic questions reared their ugly heads, "What I'd like to know is what your personal interest is in Miss Pendragon and what that has to do with hacking into my security network."

"Why, I wanted to know if you and I could assist each other in finding and rescuing her from this madman," Incubus replied, caught off his guard for the first time, "You see, Miss Pendragon is my younger sister."


	9. The First Job

Guen swallowed hard, nervously adjusting the manacle on her wrist.  This was it, her test.  Her first job.  The Scarecrow had insisted upon it after making his own adjustments to her outfit, which now consisted of her manacle and wristband, (of course,) a black dress with a pleated skirt, a silver-gray sash tied about her waist with a bow in the back, a black leather collar about her neck, and black Goth boots that laced up in the front.  The colors had been the adjustment; initially, Banshee had outfitted her in green to match her eyes, but it wasn't intimidating enough to meet the Scarecrow's criteria, so he sent Ulysses to "obtain" something black.  The sash he disapproved of, but made no effort to make her get rid of it.  The collar, Stitches's and Banshee's idea of a joke, he didn't seem to notice.  Instead, he immediately told her that she was going to have a job tonight, and that he would be supervising to see how well her new identity worked out.

"Would you stop twitching?  You're beginning to remind me of Mr. Cutter so much, the poor man might as well have come with us."  came the snappish declaration to her side, and she jumped, turning to regard the spindly figure next to her.  The Scarecrow had also insisted on bringing a camcorder with them, to document the effects of her "task", and was currently struggling to understand the piece of technology.

"S-sorry, I'm just worried, and I don't want to….I mean, that is-well, you see, I just-what if something happens and the police show up before we can get away and they arrest us and find the-" she launched into her nervous habit of babbling, but he exasperatedly held up a long-fingered hand, motioning her into silence.

"I have confidence in your abilities, Wraith," he said slowly, and she flinched at the use of her new name, but it went unnoticed as he continued, "All you need do is act naturally and keep in mind the timing.  Timing is key to any job, any experiment."

"Right, timing." she responded, swallowing the rocky lump in her throat.

"Timing and proper execution, Wraith," he confirmed, and this time he noticed the cringe.  "You will grow into the name eventually.  Simply contemplate on it a while and get used to hearing it, for it is what you shall become tonight."

" 'When you notice a cat in profound meditation, the reason I tell you, is always the same,'" Guen chanted softly, " 'His mind is engaged in a rapt contemplation of the thought…of the thought…of the thought of his name.  His ineffable, effable, effanineffable…deep and inscrutable...singular name.'"

"T.S. Elliot, Wraith?  I'll not have you going either Catwoman _or_ Mad Hatter on me!" the Scarecrow spat as he turned the camcorder over in his hands several times.  "One obsessed with felines, the other with poetry.  Oh, blast this bedamned machine!"

Wraith sighed, reached over, and when he froze in suspicion, she clicked the power button and the recorder hummed to life.

" _That's_ how you turn it on." she said pointedly, and he glared at her, the formidable mouth of the burlap mask stretching into a disapproving scowl.

"Get on with you and begin phase one.  Don't forget to treat the food as well as the beverages!  Without those two compounds ingested, the third will be as good as useless." he said venomously, waggling an index finger as he relayed the instructions again.  She rose to leave and enter the building, pulling the catering service suit jacket on over her outfit to give subtlety to her appearance until the necessary time, and she was about to close the van door when she stopped and looked at the Scarecrow one last time.

"Scarecrow?" she said.

"What _now_?" he asked irritably.

"The button with the red circle on it is the one you push to record." she informed him patiently, and received another scowl in response.

"I knew that!  Get a move on with it, woman!" he answered, clearly losing his composure at her needling.  Smiling, she closed the van gently, and walked up to the side door that led to the kitchens of Gotham Conference Hall, sweat rolling in rivers over her palms as she gingerly transported the first two compounds of the toxin, hidden among the dessert trays in the case from the catering company.

There was no way she was going to be able to pull this off.   _Definitely in way over your head, Pendragon_ , she reminded herself for the umpteenth time.  But Dr. Crane- _the Scarecrow_ -said he had confidence in her!  He was depending on her to help with his experiment- _crime_ , that Criminal Psych student in her head corrected in vain-and he had faith in her to perform her part, and perform it well!  Part of her wanted to run straight to Gotham PD and turn them both in, while the other part soared on elated wings at the knowledge.

"What's that you have there, Miss?" came a friendly voice, snapping her out of her ponderings, and she looked at the man in the apron holding the side door open.  He was staring at the covered dessert trays.

"Th-the cream puffs and éclairs you sent for." she said softly, her voice wavering, and he frowned in confusion, scratching the side of his head.

"Huh.  Don't recall any éclairs being ordered with the cream puffs.  Here, come on in a minute while we get this sorted out." he said, holding the door open wider, and she sighed, crossing the threshold.  He ran off almost at once, seeking the head of authority in the kitchen, and Guen set the trays down, deftly slipping her hand in one when nobody was looking and pulling out a small, stoppered phial filled with a  grainy, clear powder that resembled sugar.  She slipped it just inside her sleeve as the first man returned with two more, one wearing a tall chef's hat and a scowl, the other in a suit and glasses, carrying a long receipt.

"I don't see anything of the sort on the list or the receipt, sir!" the chef snorted, fixing a harsh glare on Guen, who swallowed audibly.  She looked toward the bespectacled man, and her heart nearly skipped a beat.   _Mayor Hill!  The mayor of Gotham City is here?!  Oh, well duh, Pendragon.  He would head a Gotham Police Banquet.  I'm going to have to drug him and all the cops too?!  This cannot be happening!!_

Suddenly the image of the Scarecrow's imposing, frowning masked face among his tattered, straw-colored wig loomed at the forefront of her mind, and she knew what she had to do.

"I-it must have been a mix-up at the store," she blurted out, hoping her babbling would work to her advantage, "I'm so sorry, Mr. Mayor!  I'll take them right back i-if you want-but I suppose-I mean, if you want the éclairs that's fine, I can tell my manager-but!  Please don't be offended, sir!  I'm just the delivery driver for tonight!"

Needless to say, there was a time when anxiety-induced blathering had its uses.  Mayor Hill smiled at her warmly, and reached out to pat her shoulder in a reassuring manner.

"There, there now.  You've done nothing wrong, dear girl.  As it stands, I would be delighted to keep the éclairs;  I was getting worried that we weren't going to have enough cream puffs for all the guests anyway.  This will make a lovely addition to the banquet.  And if your boss needs to be paid for the trouble, I'll more than happily make up the difference."  he said in a fatherly way, and pressed a wad of large bills in her hand.  Eyes widening, Guen looked up and forced a grateful smile onto her face.

"Oh, thank you so much, sir!" she exclaimed, pocketing the money.  He smiled and nodded, and the chef followed after him in a huff, trying to restart the argument about the éclairs.  The first aproned man smiled at her, and gestured to an out-of-the-way countertop.

"Just set them up there, we'll get to them later." he said nonchalantly, then turned back to his business.

_Okay, this is it, Wra-Pendragon_ , she thought, trying to maintain an appearance of serenity.  She crossed the kitchen and set the individual cases of éclairs and cream puffs on the countertop, separating them and opening their lids.  Heart pounding, she stole a quick glance around and when the coast was clear, uncorked the phial and sprinkled the contents onto the desserts with several quick flicks of her wrist.  She worried that someone would notice the eerie, glittering powder, but it quickly dissolved before her eyes, into the treats.  Stunned, she hesitated, tempted to try one, until a voice cut her short.

"Hey, while you're here, you don't mind helping us out a bit, do you?" a younger guy in a suit jacket said, tapping her on the shoulder, making her jump.  "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you.  It's just that I need some help; we're a bit swamped you see, and I can't serve all the drinks _and_ the hors d'ourves by myself…"

"I'll take the drinks out!" Guen cut him off, remembering her instructions.  "Just point me to them!"  A little stunned, the waiter complied, pointing to a large tray full of glasses of sparkling juice.  Trembling, Guen slipped the empty phial into her pocket and pulled out a similar one, this one bearing a similar powder that was slightly blue in color and more liquid in form.  She snatched a rag nearby, pretending to wipe the rims of the glasses, and tapped the phial once on each rim as she concealed it with the dishrag.  The powder dissolved instantly and nothing seemed out of place when she glanced at the drinks.  Trying to stop the trembling, she remembered working in the hotel, trying to block out the image of soaking Bruce Wayne, and told herself over and over that it was just another waitressing job.

_You're a waitress, Wrai-Guen.  A waitress.  You've got to be calm and collected, and friendly.  You're a waitress._

Taking a deep breath, she balanced the tray on her arm and shoulder, and exited to the dining hall.  Her heart began to pound wildly as she looked from seat to seat, seeing nothing but cops everywhere.  Putting on her best smile, she approached the first seat and placed one of the glasses in front of the cop.

"Why thank you miss," said the person, who glanced up to smile at her, and Guen's breath caught.  Commissioner Gordon!  She did her best to smile back at him.

"You're welcome, Commissioner." she responded gently, placing a glass before the detective seated next to Gordon.

"Say, don't I know you from somewhere?" Gordon asked abruptly, furrowing his brow at her.  Guenhivyre froze.

"Sir?"

"Have we met before?" Gordon asked, "You seem very familiar.  You a friend of my daughter, Barbara?"

Guen sighed with relief.  He didn't recognize her…yet.  She intended to be on her way before he did.

"I do have a couple of classes with Babs, now that you mention it," she responded brightly, "Perhaps you've seen me around the school."

"That seems about right." Gordon agreed before turning his attention back to the detective.

And it was in this manner that Guen went around the tables, serving the doctored drinks to the patrons, hoping desperately none of the cops recognized her.  She had a close call with Gordon, and a rather nasty encounter with the infamous, loud detective that all of Gotham knew as Harvey Bullock.  Rushing back and forth between the kitchens and the dining hall, Guenhivyre soon found that no one was left unserved and the waiters were already dishing out the food and desserts.  As the cooks prepared to assemble in the dining hall for the mayor's toast, Guen slipped out as silently as possible, making her way through the Gotham Conference Hall until she found a restroom.  She slipped inside and tore off the catering uniform, stuffing it unceremoniously in the trash as she opened her wings.  They ached as usual from having to be concealed, and she felt a little light-headed and sleepy after stretching them again.  She checked her appearance in the mirror: her outfit still looked as it had before they'd left, but she felt she looked a little peaky.

_No shit, Sherlock_ , she thought angrily to herself, _you're about to pull off a crime, and in a building full of cops, no less!_   She reached to touch the sash near her hip, feeling the small bulge there.  The Scarecrow had insisted that she have a weapon, if only for intimidation purposes rather than fighting ones.  And so he had somehow produced a unique scythe for her.  The weapon was capable of collapsing to the size of a mirror compact, and when she pressed a release lever on it, it would unfold and snap in place like a switchblade.  She swallowed at the thought of taking it out and suddenly remembered she needed to get back to the dining hall.  Stifling a squeak, she ran out to the dining hall, where she saw the occupants already biting into their pastry desserts.  Many of them paused at her loud entrance and turned to look at her.

"What in the world--?" Jim Gordon murmured, a flicker of recognition alight in his eyes.

And that's when it happened.

A noxious red smoke shot out of the vents and quickly enveloped the room, and everyone began coughing, Guen included.  Then the screaming began.  Everyone seated at the table began to shriek and cry and howl, their faces contorting in fear.  Guen allowed herself a sadistic smile.  It had worked.

She had done well, and the Scarecrow would be pleased.

"What's going on?" someone demanded, and Guen suddenly remembered the cooks and waiters.

"Crap." she muttered, and drew the scythe from her sash, unsnapping it and swinging its length in a wide arc.

"What the-" one of the cooks started, but his voice was drowned out in the renewed screams of terror coming from the diners.

"It's a monster!" a woman screamed.

"A demon!  A-a ghost!" Guen heard someone gasp.

"Get away from me!"

"The Grim Reaper!"

"It's a ghost!"

"Get away!"

"I don't want to die!"

"G-get away!"

"GET AWAY!"

And by this point, the panic of the police had spread to everyone, and the room practically teetered on the verge of a mental breakdown.

"Your nightmare walks and talks and takes vengeance on all who oppose her!" Guen said on a rare whim of inspiration, swinging the point of the scythe around to face them, "I am Wraith!  Fear me!  Fear the Wraith!" 

The words sounded silly once they'd left her mouth, but it was clear the Gotham PD considered it anything but.

The dining hall erupted into full-scale chaos.

Everywhere the cops were screaming, battling invisible phantoms and fears, and begging her to stay away.  They were running everywhere, trying to get away, seizing each other and trying to find an exit in their panic.

And then the Scarecrow was at her side.

"Marvelous, my dear!  My assumption was correct!  You are indeed Wraith." he said this last bit in a voice low enough she could barely hear.  Despite the disorder taking place around her, Guen's heart swelled.

"I-I am, aren't I?"

"Indeed!  And what an exquisite first performance, I must say," the Scarecrow agreed, and he let out a high cruel laugh, "You have done excellently.  But the effects will wear off quickly, at the rate they're burning through the toxin.  We should be heading out, and with due haste."

She nodded, and as they turned to leave, her eye fell on a jade vase in a corner and she seized his sleeve.

"Not so fast," said the Wraith in a completely different voice, "I want a souvenir."

***

Footsteps echoed down the hall of Arkham Asylum.  Somehow, the figure went unnoticed by the guards, all of whom were newly sporting bizarre headgear: a single card bearing the figure 10/6 and the words, "In This Style."  The inmates noticed, but they said nothing.  She was not Guenhivyre Pendragon, true, but she was still known to a good number of them, and they stayed silent.  She stopped outside his cell, and after a moment's "persuasion", the guard unlocked the cell and let her inside.

"Hello, Jervis." she said in a soft, bashful voice, her cheeks going pink.

His eyes shot open in the dark, and he rose slowly from his bunk.

Not Guenhivyre Pendragon, but Erin Knightly.

The corners of the Mad Hatter's mouth turned up in a slow Cheshire Cat grin.

"My dear Erin." he said softly, and she ran the few feet of space between them, catching him in a hug.

"I'm here to get you out, Jervis.  Curious things are happening, or so I've heard." Erin murmured, her long red hair billowing about her sweet face.  Jervis gave her a reassuring kiss on the forehead and led her from the cell.

"Curious indeed," he said with a nod, "And when I've the time, I'll explain what has happened recently since your last visit.  But while I enjoy your company, my dear, we do have an errand to run."

Her bright eyes sparkled.  "An errand?  What sort of errand?"

"We're going to fetch you a…friend." Jervis answered as a mad gleam entered his eyes.

***

Images of the wrecked dining hall were all over the news within a few hours and therefore all over Logann Pendragon's expensive, huge television screen.  Four pairs of eyes followed the report as they watch the footage from the security cameras, displaying the appearance of a girl in a strange, dark outfit and the outburst of insanity that followed.  The report ended before much more could be shown, but not before the image of the Scarecrow entered the corner of the screen and went to stand beside the girl.  She turned ever so slightly, and one could see the two wings on her back, separate from her costume.

"That's her.  That's Guen." Logann said definitively.

The Riddler could only gape, staring at the wings on Guen's back.  Not even the appearance of the Scarecrow could arouse more fury from him, stunned as he was.

"Wings?  She has wings." he breathed, astonished.  But as unreal as it seemed, it somehow made sense.  He knew Guen wasn't really blonde, for one thing.  After getting to know her a bit better, she had confided in him enough that she had removed her wig one time.  And her wings…hadn't she always worn thick, long-sleeved coats, no matter what the temperature in Arkham had been?

"Obviously," Trick Deck snorted, then added as a too-polite afterthought, "Nice scythe, too."

"I do believe," the Penguin threw in, voicing what they were all secretly thinking, "that this Miss Pendragon has suddenly become far more interesting."


	10. Strange Meetings

Gordon gave a quick, cursory glance around. No one seemed to be hanging around outside this corridor. He felt sick to his stomach when he thought about what happened. The feeling got worse after he'd watched the tape from the cameras a couple of times. He only hoped that his dark friend would be able to help some way, because as far as Gordon was concerned, he doubted things could get any worse than they were now.

***

"Sure was nice of the Commissioner to cover us." Robin remarked softly as he and Batman dropped into the room, but his towering companion said nothing. Instead, they approached the array of screens, and found one tape sticking out of its slot. Batman frowned as he pushed the tape in, and hit the Play button. An image flashed onscreen of a banquet hall full of people and a second later, an odd smoke began to fill the room, entering through the ventilation system.

"Footage of the incident?" Robin asked, receiving only the merest nod in return.

The tape played on, showing the panic beginning among the diners, and a girl in a weird, dark outfit entered the room. Something small and dark shifted on the image of her back, and she suddenly had a scythe in her hand, which she swung menacingly. The diners really started freaking out, and everything became chaotic. In fact, with as much that was going on, Robin almost didn't catch the sudden appearance of a second figure in the corner of the screen. A shiver crawled down his spine at the sight of the Scarecrow, gleefully wringing his hands at the sight before turning to the girl, saying something. The girl tilted her head towards him, and Robin's heart sank as he recognized Guenhivyre Pendragon. He had hoped for a wild instant, when they'd received the call from Gordon, that his gentle, quiet classmate hadn't gotten mixed up in this incident, and now those hopes were dashed.

The two figures turned to leave, but Guen suddenly seized the Scarecrow's arm and they stopped long enough for her to run to the corner of the room and seize a jade vase from its pedestal.

"It looks like Dr. Crane isn't exactly holding Guen prisoner anymore." Robin muttered.

"Worse than that. It seems she's become his protégé." Batman growled.

***

Guen shivered as she walked down the street, despite the hoodie she wore to keep the autumn chill at bay. One of the few blessings of the hoodie was that it was roomy enough her wings could move a little freely and still not be conspicuous to passers-by. To this day, she could only recall the vaguest memory of her past, before she was raised in a foster home. She knew that whatever had happened before she was eight, it had to do with her wings. They hadn't budded until she went through puberty, but there was no way they were naturally hers, and she couldn't remember anything about them or her past.

She glanced in the window of a store as she passed, and was shocked at her reflection. She seemed very pale and ill-kempt, and there were dark rings under her eyes. She'd lost some sleep after her crime the other night, and when she did sleep, she was haunted by nightmares she couldn't recall. The worst part was that her actions weren't bothering her as much as the blackout did. She remembered the Scarecrow telling her they had to leave, remembered following him, spotting a vase in the corner of the room, and then...nothing.

The vase had been enfolded in her arms when she woke up the next day. And she couldn't remember what happened. She'd tried to talk to Crane, but he'd locked himself in his study, and Twitch hadn't been any help. Perhaps the only thing that calmed her down yesterday was the Joker moving his gang out of the lab entirely, apparently ready to return to one of his own haunts. Banshee had hung back, and clapped Guen on the shoulder.

"Hey, girly. It'll be okay; it's always rough the first night out." she'd said, "And don't worry too much. I'll be hanging around. Phantom sisters gotta look out for each other, you know."

Guen gave a weak chuckle at her reflection, brushing wispy strands of hair from her face.

"Geez, if she could see me now. I look like a total mess." she muttered.

"You've got that right." a voice said beside her, and she jumped, her heart hammering.

A girl about her age was leaning against the window, shuffling a deck of cards and staring into the street. Her wavy auburn hair fell upon bare shoulders, held in place by a green visor. She looked like she was dressed for work at a casino.

"I-I'm sorry?" Guen asked, confused.

"You really ought to go take a shower, get a change of clothes. Can't be intimidating if you look grungy." the girl said absently.

"And you are--?" Guen said slowly.

"Call me Trick Deck, _Wraith_. How're the wings, by the way?" she answered casually, finally looking Guen in the eyes.

Guen went rigid, her eyes opening wide, and she instinctively reached a hand around to touch the opposite shoulder. "How did you...?" she whispered.

"Oh, trust me when I say that Dr. Crane is _rarely_ subtle with his crimes. I've already seen the security tapes," Trick Deck stopped shuffling her card deck for a moment, "Not a bad debut for your first crime. Taking the vase was a nice touch."

Guen tightened her jaw in panic, not trusting herself to say anything.

"As for finesse and perfection...well, those will come with time and practice. But if I were you, I wouldn't completely trust the Scarecrow. He's got his own motivations, if his tendencies are anything to go by. You probably don't mean much more to him than a trained guinea pig he can use to his advantage." Trick Deck said quietly, and the merest hint of sympathy passed over her features.

"Dr. Crane hasn't given me any reason to completely distrust him so far," Guen started, but even as the words left her mouth, she faltered, remembering his betrayal of her at the onset of this whole mess.

"Like I said, you ought to be careful around him," Trick Deck warned a little firmer this time, and she drew a card from the middle of her deck, "My card. Call me if you need me. I might answer, I might not. Good luck, newbie. You're really going to need it."

Almost as soon as Guen took the card from her with tentative hands, Trick Deck vanished into the crowd, leaving not a trace in her wake. Chills ran down Guen's spine as she pocketed the card. She could barely sort out her thoughts, confused about how Trick Deck had found her, had known about her, about the Scarecrow, and her warning and offering mentioned in the same breath. Her mind was awhirl with chaos. She needed something normal, something mundane, to ease her nerves.

"You need some coffee, Pendragon." she said to herself aloud.

***

Erin Knightly had her nose buried between the covers of Alice In Wonderland again, as she stood in line for tea. Last night, she and Jervis had gone back to her apartment, and he had assured her that soon there would be a new friend joining them, and she'd tried to guess for the better part of half an hour to guess who it would be. She ran through every Carroll character she could remember, but each time Jervis would chuckle softly and shake his head as he ran his fingers through her red, red curls.

"No, my dear. Not that one." he would say.

Finally, she'd grown tired of the game, and they'd fallen asleep on the couch, Erin gently enveloped in Jervis's arms. When she'd woken, he had kissed her forehead lightly, the touch of the Caterpillar himself, and apologized right off the bat. He needed to spend the first half of the day getting into contact with some of his colleagues, try to get ahold of some the larger, hidden stash of his mind control tech.

"I'm so sorry, my dear." he'd stuttered, blushing a soft red.

"Oh, Jervis. It's fine, I'm not upset with you. I have to do some grocery shopping today anyway," she had answered, giving him a soft kiss on the cheek, "I'll be back soon."

Her shopping was already done, but she couldn't resist stopping for a cup of tea. She felt a little awkward, having tea without Jervis, but she hadn't been to the little café in a while, and she felt that she ought to pay it a visit again. She missed the people almost as much as she did the beverages.

She started to step forward, not looking up from the pages of her book, and bodily collided with someone. Startled, her attention was finally ripped away as she reached out to grab the arm of the girl she'd bumped into.

"Oh, I'm dreadfully sorry! I don't know what came over me, I usually don't read in line! Are you okay?" she asked, feeling her face flush with shame and embarrassment. The girl steadied herself and turned to regard Erin. She was a little younger than Erin, but she had a pleasant face with bright green eyes framed by shoulder-length dark hair. She looked a little tired and worn-out however, and her movements were jerky and she trembled a bit.

"U-um, I'm fine, it's okay." she said gently, and reached her hand up to rub the opposite shoulder.

Now that was a curious habit.

"I'm Erin, Erin Knightly," she said cheerfully, extending her hand for a shake, "Please, let me buy you your tea to make up for it."

"Oh, um...thank you, but it's coffee...Uh, I, uh, I'm Guenhivyre Pendragon." the pale girl answered, lightly shaking Erin's offered hand.

"Pendragon? Like King Arthur's Guenhivyre?" Erin asked, and the girl nodded. What an unusual name!

"Y-yeah, but you can just call me Guen. Everybody does." she said, and Erin smiled.

"Hey, Bradley! Her coffee's on me!" Erin called to the boy behind the counter with several piercings. He grinned at her; Erin was an old regular, and they got along well.

"You got it, Miss Knightly!" he said cheerfully, before pushing two steaming cups toward them.

"Th-thanks again." Guen said shyly, staring into her cup.

"Here, come sit with me." Erin said, taking Guen's arm and pulling her to a table. Erin slid into a chair, setting down her copy of Alice next to her tea. Guen, looking awkward, sat down, flushing. "You alright?" Erin asked, a little concerned.

"Y-yeah...just been plagued with nightmares the past couple nights, so I've lost sleep," Guen said, tucking a strand of her black hair behind her ear as she blew on her coffee. She glanced at the book, and a strange look passed over her green eyes. "Carroll, huh?" Erin nodded, beaming, and Guen furrowed her nose. "I'm not much for classics, but I've read _Alice_. I'm partial to Poe, myself."

The sudden reference brought a quote to Erin's mind. "Why is a raven like a writing desk?" she asked, giggling.

Guen raised an eyebrow. "I'll choose to pass on that one. Seems to be the only riddle no one can solve." For some reason, she seemed a little sad when she said that.

"But Poe's so gloomy! Don't get me wrong, he's a great writer, but Carroll," Erin inhaled and sighed dramatically, her thoughts returning to Jervis, "Carroll's writing is magic."

"Magic, huh?" Guen said, taking a sip of her coffee.

"Yeah, it brings people together." Erin answered, absently stirring a sugar packet into her tea, staring off at nothing as she thought of Jervis's shy, adorable smile.

"Really? You and your boyfriend both Carroll fans?" Guen said, and she sounded like she was perking up a bit. Certainly there was a twinkle in her eyes that hadn't been there before.

"Yes, Jervis and I met because of  Alice in Wonderland." Erin answered bashfully, blushing at the thought of the first time she and the Mad Hatter had met.

Guen choked on her coffee, and another weird look crossed her face, bringing Erin crashing back to reality.

"Did-forgive me...did you say your boyfriend's name is Jervis?" she asked in a hoarse voice.

"Yes, he's English."

"Jervis... _Tetch_?" Guen said, the color draining from her face.

Puzzled, Erin nodded. "Yes. Do you know Jervis? He's never mentioned a Pendragon before. Are you two friends?"

Guen abruptly rose from her chair, clutching her coffee in a trembling hand, and-curiouser and curiouser!-her back twitched and jerked.

"I-I have to go!" she said in a strangled voice, and rushed from the café like the devil himself was on her heels.

"How odd..." Erin said, staring after her, hurt and confused. "Was it something I said?"


	11. Brother

He could feel the darkness swirling around him, threatening to wall him in.

Monster. A monster.

He was a monster.

Before, he'd been normal, but now...

He clenched his fists, shutting his eyes tight against the world, blocking out everything.

Guen. Did she remember him? Would she recognize him? Would she hate him? It had taken so long to track her down, to find her, but he still hadn't had the courage to venture out and contact her on his own, and then she was abducted by Jonathan Crane, former psychologist and professor, alias of the Scarecrow. Now he had had to break down and seek out help to find her again, and still he'd not attempted to make contact with her.

And worse, _he_ was looking for her too. He had no idea what that bastard had in the way of resources, but whatever the case, Guen had to hear from him first, not that posing weasel. Why the man had even stolen his name!

Logann Pendragon.

He gazed at his reflection in the mirror.

Which of them was the _real_ Logan Pendragon? He was finding it hard to remember. They'd both been called that name when they were young and now…They looked so much alike, and if Guen were to be confronted by them both, how would she tell which truly shared her parentage?

He gritted his teeth in fury, cursing Professor Milo and Doctor Dorian for having locked them away so long ago. All three of them had been held in that prison of a laboratory for so long...and that fool...he had actually grown to like Milo and Dorian, until his sucking-up had earned him their favor and he'd turned against them--his childhood friends--entirely. He couldn't be persuaded to care for their well-being again, not even for Guenhivyre's sake, and now the man was out to pose as Logan Pendragon, her elder brother. Only the young Kirk Langstrom had had any compassion for those two lost, unfortunate children back then. Langstrom and Langstrom alone had helped them escape the lab, escape Milo, Dorian, and Mr. Daggett and find a foster home where they could be kept safe. But even Langstrom had had no idea the two would end up separated, or that their genetically enhanced mutations would actually surface.

Milo and Dorian's experiment hadn't, despite their impatience, failed.

He reached up to touch his ears, just hidden by his long dark hair.

Yes, the mutations hadn't surfaced until adolescence, and if he was correct, the same went for Guenhivyre, and for _him_.

A sharp pain erupted in his side, and he doubled over, groaning as he clutched his stomach. It felt like he was being cut with a switchblade several times from the inside.

He looked up into the mirror again, his eyes shifting to their telltale yellow with black slits, the eyes of a wild animal.

It was time to feed again.

***

Crane looked up from his notes into the fading sunlight, frowning and tapping his pencil impatiently. Someone was watching him, no doubt about that. He had that feeling, and he knew to trust it when it came. Irritated regardless, he stepped away from his desk, and left his office, trudging through the laboratory, making his way to the winding staircase and up onto the roof. He was vaguely aware of Guenhivyre Pendragon suddenly following him, but decided against snapping at her. The girl had returned around noon, rather shaken and pale, to report that she'd run into none other than Crane's old psychology student, Erin Knightly. This surprised Jonathan initially-after all, he'd have thought Erin and Guenhivyre would get along splendidly with all they had in common-but after he listened a bit longer, it seemed Miss Knightly was still infatuated with Jervis Tetch. Then Miss Pendragon's shaking made a bit more sense, and was definitely more of a godsend. Indeed, she'd not even objected to letting him take notes on it. Now she scuttled along behind him like some overgrown crustacean, but he doubted she even knew why. No matter, perhaps two sets of eyes would be better than one.

"Wh-what's going on, Profe-Scarecrow?" she quickly amended, barely bringing her voice above a whisper.

"We're being watched." he answered curtly, opening the door to the roof and striding out.

"Oh." was all she said, following along. He walked to the edge of the roof, and caught her as she ran up beside him, squeezing her shoulder hard.

"Try to appear casual, Miss Pendragon," he said carefully, pointing in a vague direction, "Act as though we are merely observing the surrounding area and not looking for anything in particular."

"Bu-but--wouldn't they have noticed us coming onto the roof?"

"Perhaps, but let us take precaution all the same." he answered, scanning the area. The immediate forty feet on all sides of the laboratory had been cleared when it was built, and one side had a full view of Gotham, including the Gotham Bay Bridge. The rest was surrounded by a growth of trees, not too thick, but not sparse either. He carefully scrutinized every inch of the property, and after finding nothing, he was about to go back inside, when he spotted something. At first, he figured it was nothing more than a trick of the light from the dying sun, when he saw it again. There! Light reflected off something in one of the trees.

"There you are." he murmured, glaring in the direction he'd spotted it.

***

"Blast it, he's spotted us!" the Penguin hissed, tightening his grip on the handle of his umbrella. "But how?"

"Gee, I have no idea," the Riddler muttered sarcastically, giving Oswald's monocle a pointed look before glaring at Trick Deck's binoculars.

"He does see us. Damn," Trick Deck said casually, not the least bit intimidated.

They all watched Jonathan Crane as his features twisted into an angry grimace, his fist clenching at his side, and Guenhivyre Pendragon looked up at him, confused. She followed his gaze, but didn't appear to see them, as she continued to look around.

"Why the hoodie, Guen? To hide your wings, but you must be boiling." the Riddler spoke aloud, earning a snort from Trick Deck.

"Well no shit, Sherlock. Do you never stop asking questions?"

"Thirty white horses on a red hill. First we clamp, then we tramp, then we stand still. What are we?" he said by way of reply.

"Ugh, guess not." Trick Deck looked back at the two figures on the roof. Finally, Jonathan Crane said something clearly meant to be a dismissal, and Guenhivyre turned and walked off. He stood there a moment longer, still glaring at their spot with all the vehemence he could, before turning around and following the girl out of sight.

"Harrumph. We might as well leave," the Penguin huffed, "No doubt old Johnny will start putting blinds over his windows now. And will you help me down? Flightless birds aren't meant to be stuck in trees."

***

"We're going shopping." Dr. Crane announced once they'd gotten back inside.

"Shopping?" Guen stumbled, astonished at this declaration. The professor hadn't struck her as the mall-going type.

"To a convenience store. I must find drapes or something to cover my windows."

"You want to cover your windows? There's maybe eight of them altogether in this place! What's the point?" Guen asked.

"Security, and a way to ward off prying eyes."

"And aren't like, six of them already boarded up anyway? Why not just buy some cheap cardboard to put over the other two?"

Dr. Crane stopped abruptly, turning to face with surprise on his face.

"You know, I believe that's not a bad idea," he said, "Perhaps you are more useful than I thought, Miss Pendragon. Go start the car."

"You can't just tell me to go start my own car, Mr. Control Freak!" Guen snapped, feeling indignant. The professor's eyebrows narrowed, his eyes becoming half-lidded the way they did when he was feeling annoyed, and he leaned forward, his face looming in front of her like a hangman's noose. He spoke slowly, enunciating each word.

"Go. Start. The. Car."

Less than a handful of minutes later, they were roaring back into the streets of Gotham in the Thunderbird, Guen battling the urge to turn on the radio and pester Dr. Crane further. The unspoken threat he'd made was clear enough that she'd best watch her behavior, but he only made her angrier when he insisted on driving.

_Still, it's not like you know any close grocery stores or anything, Pendragon. The loony's got a point._ a voice reprimanded her in the back of her head. _Oh, stop! Like you have any room to call Dr. Crane names! You're becoming insane yourself._

_But that's impossible,_ she tried to shake her thoughts off, _I'm not crazy! Not like he and all the others are! I'm still sane..aren't I?_

Something about that line of thinking rattled her, and she grew so lost in thought, she didn't notice them pull up and park at a small store.

"We're here." was all Jonathan said, turning off the car and getting out. Reluctantly she followed, desperately wishing she knew whether she was still sane or not. She felt dazed, like a sleeper moving in a waking dream, until she noticed Jonathan had acquired his cardboard.

"Look around if you want, Miss Pendragon. I'll be putting these in the car." he said simply, before walking up to the cashier. Guen found it astonishing that even insane supercriminals would do something as simple as purchasing cardboard, and even more surprising that they, on occasion, actually paid for it. That had to go down on her notepad, the criminology student in her decided, it had to be written down and then researched. Who knew what explanations she might find? She continued to browse around the store, toying with the idea of buying some more foodstuffs for the lab's measly pantries, when someone came into the store. She turned, expecting Jonathan back, and her entire body broke out in a cold sweat.

Clad in everyday clothes with Erin Knightly's arm entwined with his own, was Jervis Tetch.

_Oh, HELL. Just your luck, Pendragon. Turn back to the shelves slowly, just turn back and pretend to browse and hope they don't see you. Pray Miss Knightly doesn't recognize you and open her mouth._

Guen wondered what cruel spiritual force with a sense of humor that loved irony had decided to mess with her, because at that moment Erin perked up and saw her. She broke into a huge grin and rushed forward, dragging a confused Jervis with her.

"Miss Pendragon! I thought that was you! What happened? You never got to finish your coffee!" she said breathlessly, smiling like her birthday had come early. Despite her hoodie, Guen felt cold, her insides clenching as she forced a smile onto her own face.

"I uh, had forgotten something. I had to go take care of it." she answered shortly, hoping to find away around the two lovebirds before Jervis recognized her. He looked up, frowning.

"Did you say Pendragon?" he asked, "Funny. I know another Miss Pendragon myself, but it's not a very common last name these days. Jabberwock's teeth! I say, you wouldn't happen to be related to a Guenhivyre, would you Miss?"

"Oh, Jervis, you're so silly!" Erin giggled, drawing a warm smile from the Englishman. Guen felt the sudden urge to knock his overbite in and talk some sense into Erin Knightly.

"And you my dear, are frabjuous and magnificent." he replied, raising Erin's hand to his lips to kiss it. 

"And _you_ are obnoxious."

"I beg your pardon?" Jervis's eyebrows narrowed as he looked Guen in the eye. She wondered why, then realized with a growing sense of dread that _she_ had said that.

"Couldn't have put it better myself, Guenhivyre. He does tend to wear on one's nerves rather quickly." came an annoyed sigh, and suddenly Jonathan was at her side again. "Hello Jervis. I must say I'm surprised to see you here."

"We were picking up some tea to take back to my apartment," Erin jumped in, still smiling obliviously, "And I'd met Guen earlier today!"

"So I've heard." Jonathan answered in a long-suffering tone.

"Guenhivyre?" Jervis said softly, and she froze, her eyes widening in horror. He continued to study for face for a moment, frowning.

"Ahh, yes, that's right. I take it you remember Miss Pendragon from her weekly visits to the asylum, Jervis?" Jonathan spoke up, and Guen found her urge to punch something quickly extended to him as well.

"Guenhivyre?! What in the world has Jonathan made you do to your hair?!" Jervis gasped, scandalized at the thought. Guen was about to make a witty comeback, and hopefully save this whole mess, but the professor was quicker.

"Oh, honestly you idiot! She was wearing a wig! Even with as often as you tend to have your head in the clouds, I should think you'd be able to recognize a fake hairpiece when you saw one."

_Gee thanks, Dr. Crane. Please, just dig my hole deeper for me, because I can't dig far enough myself._ Guen thought sarcastically, wrapping her arms around her and shivering. Jervis's face went from dramatic outrage to astonishment to a dark, evil anger, and she wished she could have disappeared on the spot.

"A wig." he repeated calmly, and Erin looked up at him, puzzled for the first time.

"Jervis, what's wrong?" she asked, but still his glare bore into Guen, who was looking anywhere but the other three, desperately trying to find anything that could be used to change the subject. Suddenly a newspaper on one of the racks caught her eye, and she was only vaguely aware of the doctor answering the others as she moved closer to study it. The headline showed a new exhibit at the Gotham City Museum, featuring a lot of art from the renaissance age. In the corner of the accompanying photograph, was a small box-a chest of some sort-with an image carved on it that she could barely make out. But something about that drew her eye, and in an instant she knew what she had to do. She needed to see what was on that box, and if her suspicions were correct, she wanted that box.

"Lovely to see you and all, but we'd best get going now," she said loudly, going right back to them and grabbing the keys from Jonathan's hand.

"Oh?" Erin asked, "What are you up to?"

"Dr. Crane and I were going to go visit the museum," Guen said cheerily, turning to throw him a pointed look, "Just like he promised. Aren't we, sir?"

He raised his eyebrows at her and crossed his arms, but then slowly nodded.

"Yes, of course. I'd almost forgotten; thank you for reminding me, Guenhivyre." He said in a tone of voice that said he wanted an explanation once they were alone. Deftly, he snatched the keys back. "But I'm still driving."

His mood didn't improve much, even when they'd gotten inside the museum.

"A box. We've come here for a box." He grumbled, ignoring all of Gotham's rich done up in their finery. Guen gave him a withering look, and promptly excused herself to the women's restroom, hoping to find a way to calm down before she went through with this course of action. Once inside, she went straight to the mirror and looked at her pale reflection, taking deep, calming breaths.

"Okay, Pendragon! You can do this!" she tried to pep rally at her reflection, "After all, you took a vase, didn't you? Yeah. So there's no reason why you can't lay claim to that box. You've just got to be a bit more confident, that's all."

"Oy. What's all the yappin' for?" said a voice, and Guen jumped as a young girl exited one of the stalls, pulling on a black hoodie. Guen's heart pounded. How much had she heard? A moment behind her fear came the registered astonishment that the girl had pink hair.

"Oh, um!  I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb anyone!" Guen said, fidgeting, unsure of whether to run or to stay. The girl frowned at her, crossing her arms.

"You're going to steal something, mate?" she said, cocking her head like a bird, "Can I ask what?"

HUH?

"Err..It's a box, here on display. Wh-what's your name?" Guen answered slowly, feeling a gut response to trust this girl. She grinned, flipping some of her pink bangs out of her eyes.

"My given name or my professional one?"

"..Professional."

"Call me Magpie." She said, her rough English voice lulling Guen into a greater state of calm. "Mind showing me this piece you want to steal?"

***

Jonathan ground his teeth together, checking his watch as he waited outside the door to the women's restroom. Whatever the little twit had dragged him here for had better be good. He was already in a bad mood from having found out he was being spied on, and in a worse one from having the run-in with Jervis and Miss Knightly. This was just nearly the last straw, but he was urging himself to have patience with Guenhivyre Pendragon. After all, the girl had gotten them both away from the happy, lovesick couple, hadn't she? Jonathan frowned as he remembered the scowl on Jervis's face before they'd left. Maybe he hadn't been lying. Maybe he really hadn't known about the wig. But why in the world would that matter at all? There was nothing special about-

Oh. Oh, science, the blonde wig! He'd associated Guenhivyre with Alice, if Jonathan knew anything about his moony-eyed friend. And to suddenly find that ripped away..Jervis must be mad indeed.

Well, thank God for Erin Knightly. She would talk some sense into the Mad Hatter, and that would be that.

Just as he was congratulating himself on his detective skills, the door to the women's restroom opened, and Guenhivyre rushed out, followed closely by the pink-haired thief he knew as The Magpie. She gave him a quick, annoyed glance and followed Pendragon to one of the displays, and he, furious, stomped after them. As he came closer, he saw they'd located this box the girl had been talking about, and he glanced at it.

It was roughly the size of a women's jewelry box, carved from ashwood and inlaid with gold leaf. And all over, painted beautiful colors and carved into the box, were two animals: a blackbird, and a dragon.

"What in the world is going on? Is this the box you were looking for?" he snapped, annoyed. But when he looked at Guenhivyre, she seemed mesmerized and was staring intently at one of the dragons, tilting her head, Magpie unconsciously mimicking her.

"Guenhivyre," he started.

"Sing a song of sixpence, a pocket full of rye

Four and twenty blackbirds, baked in a pie.

When the pie was opened, the birds began to sing;

Wasn't that a dainty dish to set before the king?" she recited, still looking like nothing in the world existed outside of the range of vision that included that box. Startled, he looked closer at her. He knew the rhyme by heart, but where in the world had that come from?

"D-Doctor Crane." she said quietly, shaking her head and looking at the box again, this time with more lucidity. "I just remembered. It came to me just now."

She looked up at him, emotions battling in those green eyes.

"I..I have a--a brother."


	12. First Encounters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've somehow made it this far, I both applaud you and extend my apologies. Please trust me, the meta for this fic will help.

Dusk was settling over Gotham, warm but not muggy, and the mom-n-pops stores were closing shop early as parents ushered their children off the streets and safely indoors. Harvey Bullock was stuck sitting in the passenger seat of a nondescript car, chewing away at his trademark toothpick with new vigor as officer Montoya scanned the street restlessly from behind the steering wheel. A lazy, comfortably warm day out, the perfect sort of day one of the crazies might choose to pull off a job, and he, Harvey Bullock, was stuck doing recon at 34th and Maple. With Renee Montoya, who hated his guts for no good reason, far as he could tell. While that geeky idiot from two doors across the GCPD station's hall, Tankinson, was on active duty, getting to have a day on the field.

Bullock was furious. Commish should've put him in the field, to help crack the case and bring down the escapees from the loony bin, not that big-talking, shades-wearing louse-up. Heck, how could anyone take that buffoon seriously?

Unconsciously, Harvey bit down too hard on his toothpick and it snapped clean in half. Montoya glanced over at him, raising her eyebrows. Sulking, he spat the remainder of it out, fishing a fresh one from his pocket and sticking it perfectly between his teeth.

"You keep that up detective, you'll get splinters in your tongue," the Hispanic woman cautioned him, like some overgrown mother hen, "You just have to let it go. The commissioner's word is final, and we have to trust his decisions."

"Yeah? Well, it don't comfort me none to know that the chief's got that clown out bustin' heads. He's probably gonna bust his own and let all the whack-jobs get away before we can take 'em in." he retorted, trying not to look sulky. No detective should look like a pouting kid, let alone when he was an adult. Renee rolled her eyes, but even the streetlights' glow didn't make Bullock take notice of it. He was too busy being sour.

About an hour and a half more of this passed, night having truly fallen now, before anything of interest occurred. Bullock was about ready to break his eighth toothpick when an abrupt squawk came out of the police scanner.

"All units respond! Possible Scarecrow sighting at Gotham City Museum. Suspect is accompanied by two young women!"

Montoya snatched up the mouthpiece. "Unit 58 responding, Montoya and Bullock! What has happened?"

"Nothing so far, Officer Montoya, but that doesn't mean nothing won't!"

"Right, we're on our way!" she answered, starting the car.

"Let me drive, why don'tcha?" Bullock asked, turning to her, "Come on, Montoya! I'll get us there faster!"

"With as many cars as you've wrecked in the past, Harv? Not happening."

He went through another three toothpicks before they reached the museum.

***

Magpie had suggested returning to the restroom to change, although she meant it in the sense of keeping people from recognizing Guenhivyre. Guen clambered around in the stall, adjusting the outfit until her wings could move freely without chafing. Her mind raced, trying to accept the memory that had resurfaced.

_A young boy, his face partially hidden in shadow, extended a hand to her. This, she knew, was her brother. He had to be. He'd just saved her. From what, she couldn't say, for she wasn't quite sure. All she knew was inexplicable terror, then his hand reaching out to her as he spoke, his little boy voice soft and worried._

_"Come on, Guen. Let's get out of here! We have to run away tonight, before they catch us."_

Before who caught them? Guen shook her head, unable to remember. She finished snapping on her collar and felt around her outfit until she located the hilt of her scythe, safely hidden in the folds of her sash. She sighed, relaxing, and stepped out.

"Cor blimey!" Magpie exclaimed, taking a step back, eyes widening. "Why didn't you tell me you had a bloody outfit?"

Guen felt a blush rise in her cheeks. "I've, uh, only been out once professionally before. I don't exactly, um, feel comfortable advertising it yet." she answered. To her amazement, Magpie grinned.

"Right then, love," she chuckled, "since I gave you my name, would you mind sharing yours?"

"Wraith." Guen answered with a sly smile.

"Love it! Suits you. Oy," her eyes suddenly widened as she saw Guen's wings, "A-are those real—"

"Wings? Yes." she fluttered them a few times, opening them to their full span, and focused intensely in her mind until she could feel each individual feather, and concentrated on moving them at the tips ever so slightly. "I-I still can't remember how I got them, just that they fledged when I turned fifteen. They're not even big enough yet for me to glide with, but they keep growing, so maybe one day…"

Magpie nodded and reached out as though to stroke the feathers, but seemed to think better of it and withdrew her hand. "Maybe," she agreed, "Now what? Thought the good doctor was going to provide us with a moment or two of cover." An abrupt scowl made its way onto the younger girl's face, startling Guen.

"Do—do you have something against Professor Crane?" she asked, hoping he'd not offended her new friend in some way.

"We've met before, under less-than-desirable circumstances in which he gassed me for getting in his way. Not like he really needed to. Bloody scarecrows! They give me the willies!" Magpie answered, shivering as she rubbed up and down her sleeves.

"Oh. Oh, shit!" Guen muttered, going red again. Forget offending her; Scarecrow had put poor Magpie through her own personal hell. Conflicting emotions roiled inside Guen. On one hand, she couldn't exactly deny her attraction to Jonathan Crane, even when he donned his Scarecrow guise. But on the other hand, he did seem to think only of himself, and appeared to be willing to do anything to get his way, regardless of who he hurt in the process.

Her thoughts were cut short at the sound of a hissing noise, and the two girls spun to see a red mist emitting through the vents, their hands instinctually leaping to cover their faces, and they avoided inhaling. The gas filled the bathroom and then slowly dissipated. They held their breath a moment longer, and then finally sighed together, relieved the air was safe to breathe again. For a second, it seemed nothing had occurred until a woman screamed from outside the restroom.

"That'd be our cue." Guen said, rushing out, her scythe snapping open.

If there had been only one or two people starting to freak out before, her appearance certainly seemed to increase their numbers. She grinned wickedly, pleased with herself and the boosted effects of the Scarecrow's fear toxin, and hoisted her scythe, spinning it one-handed above her head.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen of Gotham!" she shouted, and the people began scrambling backward, stumbling over one another in an attempt to get away from her. "Don't mind us, we're just taking over here!" She swung her scythe down, smacking the flat of the blade against the tiled floor, producing a loud, pinging sound that echoed sharply off the high walls.

Mass hysteria broke out. People everywhere were running and screaming at the sight of her, and then suffering attacks from their innermost worst fears as they tried to escape her. The Scarecrow suddenly appeared among the crowd, drawing fresh screams and cowering whimpers, and he made his way toward her, chuckling with delight at all the varying reactions.

Magpie was in her element. One moment she was next to Wraith, the next she was ducking and weaving through the crowd, pilfering from all the rich people and the display cases alike, a broad smile on her face.

"Superlative work, Wraith. You're getting better. So much raw terror!" she heard the Scarecrow say beside her. She turned to regard him as he added, "The main doors are locked, but that won't hold the police for long once they get here. Get your box so we can leave."

Nodding, she collapsed her scythe and took off, taking care to hug close to the walls so she could avoid the mill of the crowd. Backtracking to the corridor from before, she found the box sitting peacefully in its glass display, undisturbed by the events of the evening.

_No time to be fancy_ , she told herself as she wrapped the silver material of her sash over her hand several times. _Here goes nothing!_ Bracing herself, Wraith drew back her arm and punched through the glass, an alarm sounding even as the shattered fragments rained down about her fist, its wail mingling horribly with those of the fear-stricken Gothamites. Wincing at the sound, she resisted the urge to cover her ears and slipped the box out of the opening, shook glass shards off its lid, tucked it under her arm, an took off running. This time she didn't bother to avoid the crowd; instead, she elbowed people aside left and right, though most saw her coming and dove out of her path. After a moment's disorientation, she saw the Scarecrow terrorizing a rather haggard-looking middle-aged man. As she drew toward them, Wraith could hear the man offering a large sum of money up if the Scarecrow just didn't hurt him.

"I've got it! Let's go!" she said breathlessly, and Scarecrow nodded, chuckling as he backed away from his victim. For one bizarre moment, when the man's eyes locked onto hers, his expression of panic turned to one of confusion. Was he fighting the toxin?

"Do I know you?" he asked. Something about his voice sounded familiar, made many horrible, forgotten memories nudge the back of her mind, begging to be remembered. She pushed them away with ease and leered at the man.

"Of course you do. I'm the Wraith." she purred, and spun on her heel to follow the Scarecrow, who was already running for a side door. They had just reached it as the sound of police sirens joined the cacophony, and a strange thrill built in her stomach.

"Let's be quick, my dear," the Scarecrow murmured to her, wrenching the door open to reveal a staircase that spiraled upward, "Time is of the essence."

Wraith didn't have to be told twice. She charged upward, awkwardly shifting the dragon box to her other arm so she could grip the handrail as she ran. The Scarecrow started up behind her, the two of them racing up the stairs.

"Where's Magpie?" she shouted to him, fearing for her friend.

"She disappeared through one of the windows." came the nonchalant answer.

"A window?!" Wraith squawked. Then again, if Magpie was a professional thief like she suspected, it made sense. She was expecting a response, but they heard a loud crashing noise from somewhere below. The police had broken through the locked doors of the museum. She forced herself to run faster, nearly losing her grip on the box, not daring to look back as she climbed higher. Shouts echoed in the staircase, followed by ricocheting bullets. Instinctively she ducked her head, but hardly slowed. Footsteps slammed far below on the first steps and she surged up the last of the stairs, crashing through the roof door, nearly falling flat on her face. The Scarecrow came out, hardly missing a beat, and slammed the door shut, barricading it with a nearby plank of wood.

"Keep up!" he ordered, seizing her free arm and dragging her along behind him. Now she was feeling a little panicky, but she chalked that up to the thrill of the chase. Yes, she had her box, she'd eluded Gotham's finest, and she was with the professor…how could this go wrong?

A shadow fell from the sky, landing perfectly before them, its pointed ears standing out in the moonlight. Two more shadows dropped from the sky behind it, and as one, all three approached them.

" _YOU!_ " the Scarecrow snarled, taking a step backward, his mask turning into a twisted grimace.

"Somehow I don't think stealing priceless artifacts was exactly _your_ idea, Scarecrow. So why don't we just return that chest to the curator, and you come quietly?" said one of the figures in the cocky tones of a young man. This then, had to be Robin the boy wonder.

"Excuse me," Wraith bristled, stepping forward, "But taking the box was my idea." She didn't feel very brave, but she was insulted enough to make it seem like she was, and she even avoided jumping at the sound of the first crash against the roof door.

"Miss Pendragon," Batman growled out in a deep voice, "I don't know what's gone on between your abduction and now, but I can tell you it's not too late to stop this. If you return the items you've stolen and testify against Dr. Crane, Commissioner Gordon has assured me you'll be given a light sentence."

"Bah! Don't listen to his prattle, Wraith," Scarecrow spat in annoyance, "He's just tryin to make our capture easier on himself."

Wraith was torn. Inside her, the girl that she vaguely remembered was Guenhivyre Pendragon knew Batman was honorable, a man of his word. But she couldn't just—

"Perhaps I can help with this." said the third figure, striding forward. Wraith froze, watching him. He was about her age, wearing a dominoe mask on his tan face, with long dark hair that spiked back at the tips, and he wore a fishnet top under a black leather jacket with black leather pants and dark, studded boots. A chain was coiled at one hip, and he carried a pimp cane in one hand. He swaggered like someone who was an extremely popular ladies' man and knew it. Every fiber of her being felt the urge to punch this guy, but something in his voice, his stride, his posture, even his air of egomania seemed so familiar to Wraith she found herself half-wanting to hug him.

"Guen. Do you remember me?" he asked gently.

_A chair, splintered into pieces that flew all over the room, and a figure falling out of her view. A hand, stretched out to her in familial worry._

"B-b-brother?" she breathed.

"So you do remember me!" he gasped.

Wraith frowned. "I remember…I remember a chair, and—and…someone. And then my brother reaching out to comfort me. He saved me from someone." She glared at him. "I don't remember anything like _you_ , Mister—"

"Please! Call me Incubus." he said, mock-bowing, and for a moment she was stunned to the point of being mute at his name.

"If you are my brother, why wouldn't you show me your face?" she challenged him, "Why hide your identity rather than give me proof that what you're saying is true?"

"Let's not forget the fact his choice of weapons as a vigilante are a chain-whip and a pimp cane." the Scarecrow muttered.

Incubus remained silent, looking down awkwardly at his boots.

"And why have you just shown up now? Why haven't you come for me before?" she asked, genuine hurt coming out in her voice.

Incubus opened his mouth to answer, a pained expression on his masked face—

And all hell broke loose.

Several things occurred at once. The police broke through the door, Batman lunged for the Scarecrow, Incubus stretched out his hand to her, a sudden smoke obscured their vision, and before she could get her bearings, Wraith found herself dragged along by someone, running for her life. She heard a shout for her to jump, and she did as she was told, sailing through the air, and she glanced down to see the ground rushing up to meet her.

Screaming, she opened her wings, and to her vast surprise, although they didn't allow her to glide, they did slow her descent. Somewhat. Her legs buckled as she hit the ground but before she could recover, she was dragged along again, through an empty city street, down a line of buildings, into a back alley. Her rescuer was a teenage boy a little younger than her, decked out in checkered black-and-white. Even his spiky hair was black and white, and his face too, she noticed when he glanced back at her. He had both her and the Scarecrow in tow, who was protesting noisily. Finally the boy stopped, and they all nearly collapsed on the spot, gasping for breath.

"I think we lost them for the moment. Are you two alright? I saw the Bat swoop down on you and figured you were goners, but I guess I got there in time. Smoke pellets come in handy, no?" he spoke really fast, despite the fact he was out of breath.

"W-who are you?!" Wraith coughed, and the boy grinned mischieviously at her. His teeth, thankfully, weren't checkered.

"The name's Rook. I'm a friend of the Riddler's." he answered. "Don't bother introducing yourself, Riddler's told me all about you…Guenhivyre Pendragon."

***

[[??? POV]]

I was walking down a mildly sleepy street, furious with myself and my employer again. I had little else to do at the moment, and I couldn't focus my mind on my studies, so a walk was just what I needed to get my mind off things. I passed several people, all going about their business, and wished severely that I was the only person on the block. Little people tick me off, with their little minds.

I was passing an electronics store, all the televisions in the windows displaying the news, currently covering the break in and calamity at the museum. Uninterested, I started to walk by and would have thought nothing more of it, when I overheard a couple talking.

"Oh, look Jervis!" the woman exclaimed, pointing at the scene on one of the televisions, "There's Jonathan!"

"Hmph. He would cause a riot with those nasty old fear toxins of his." the man snapped in a British accent.

"Oh, and there's Miss Pendragon!" the woman added.

I froze. Pendragon? No, it had to be a coincidence. I took another step.

"Jervis! Guen has wings! Why didn't she tell us?"

Wings? Guen?

It _couldn't_ be her!

"Excuse me," I said, turning to face them. The man was a little shorter than I, with blonde hair, an overbite, and a weird costume. The woman was shorter still, with red hair, a vacant expression, and a costume just as weird. I shrugged it off. "Did you say someone has wings?"

The woman smiled at me and nodded, pointing back to the television set.

"Our friend, Guen Pendragon! She has wings!"

I turned to the screen, and when I saw her, my blood began to race through my veins.

"She does have wings," I managed to breathe.

"Yes, aren't they lovely?" the woman said.

"Oh, more than you can imagine, Miss Knightly." I said, surprising myself with a husky voice and the recognition I was next to Jervis Tetch, the Mad Hatter, and his main squeeze, Erin Knightly.

It _was_ Guenhivyre Pendragon. And she'd _grown_ , baby. Strange to look at her and see avian features. Maybe this little change took place in a later stage of life? Either way, those wings sprouting from her creamy-white, bare back was setting my blood to fire. All that black leather added to the effect, and my heart was pounding like crazy. My pet was finally within my grasp again, and I wanted a taste of her. Guess it was time to work on a plan to get her back, and get her back I would. She was _mine_. And she'd been mine from the very beginning.

Licking my lips, I turned to leave.

"Wait! Aren't you going to stay, and watch the rest?" Erin called after me.

I looked over my shoulder and grinned my most evil grin.

"Oh, no, Miss Knightly. But you have my thanks. You've told me _all_ I needed to know."


	13. A Night For Stories

Rook navigated the back alleys like they were nothing more than his favorite theme park, making them follow him silently.  The first time Wraith had asked him where they were heading, he merely put a finger to his lips, smiling and winking conspiratorially, and continued walking.  The Scarecrow grumbled the whole way, and when Wraith realized that he was towing his duffel bag as a means of carrying their mundane clothes, she quickly saddled him with the dragon box, stuffing it in the bag on the insistence it needed to be protected, and hidden from prying eyes.  This had only made him grumble all the more, but he had yet to remove it.

Finally, they seemed to reach their destination.  It was a shabby diner, and stuck out like a sore thumb in this nicer part of Gotham.

"Here we are!" Rook announced.

"The "Violet Revolver Café?" Are you kidding me?" Wraith asked, raising an eyebrow skeptically.

"What sort of Neanderthal names his coffee shop after a purple firearm?" Scarecrow scoffed, trailing along behind them.  Rook only shrugged in response, and led them across the street, and inside.

The inside of the Violet Revolver Café was poorly lit, and it had the appearance and manner about it that spoke more of a bar than a café.  Wraith shuddered as she looked around at the other patrons, rubbing some warmth into her arms.  Rook walked into the place and strolled around like nobody's business, as though he owned the place.

_But after all the things that have been happening to me lately,_ she thought wryly, _I wouldn't be surprised if that's the case._

"Well, well, well!  Look what the kids dragged in!  If it isn't Scarypants and Wreath!" came a mirth-filled laugh, raising the hair on the back of Wraith's neck.  She slowly turned her head, and saw the Joker, surrounded by his usual gang of cronies, with Stitches on his left and Harley Quinn on his right.  Banshee, rather than standing right next to him and seeing to his every need, stood among the thugs, polishing one of her Uzi's.  She looked up at her boss's laugh, caught Wraith's eye, and smiled.

"Dude, you know _Banshee_?" Rook asked in disbelief, suddenly right beside her.

"Yeah, she helped me pick out my outfit," Wraith said with a nod before turning to Joker and glaring, adding, "It's Wraith."

"Is that a threat?  Because I really don't like having to 'dissuade' threats." he said casually, and two or three of his henchmen immediately pointed their guns to her.  She smiled coldly back.

"Just a correction, not a threat.  Still have to work on my stage presence for that."

"Making friends already, Wraith?" came a sour voice, and she jumped, looking on her other side at the Scarecrow, whose mask showed he was plainly unamused.

"SCARY!" the Joker said, throwing his arms open, "You didn't tell me you were coming!  I would have made myself decent!"

"Does 'decent' involve attempting to brain me with a chair again?" Scarecrow asked bitterly.

"Ooooo, are we still touchy about that?"

"You tried to kill me.  I daresay I am." Scarecrow retorted calmly.

"Wait, when did this happen?"  Wraith asked, looking between the two of them.

"Long before you met either of us.  I didn't feel inclined to bring it up last week." Scarecrow said, and then focused on her.  "Wraith, I intend to go and place a phone call to Ulysses, so he can come and retrieve us."

"You're leaving already?!  But you just got here!  We still need to get to know each other!" Rook whined at Wraith, pouting like a puppy.

"So I need you to stay here," The Scarecrow went on, as though he'd not heard another, "And keep out of trouble."

"The master of fear telling me to keep out of trouble.  Right." she snorted.  He leaned in and glared at her from behind his mask.

"You will do as I say, or the next time we go anywhere, you're going to fall.  You're going to fall hard, and I'll be there.  I'll be the one pushing you off the building." he said in a soft, deadly voice.  She glared back at him, and finally, he "harrumph"ed and stomped off.  She sighed, relaxing her shoulders, and took a seat at the bar.  Rook promptly hopped up on the stool next to her.

"Sounds like the two of you are having problems." he remarked, falling silent with a gulp when he saw the expression on her face.  She huffed a tired sigh, and buried her face in her hands.

_Not like he was trying to be insensitive,_ she thought.   _And it's not like the Scarecrow really does give a shit about me._

_That's not true!_ she argued with herself. _After all, if he didn't really care, he would have left me behind at the museum…right?_

"Aww, what's the matter, blackie?  Scary being jerky?" came a voice to her left, and she glanced over to see the Joker sitting next to her.  A chill threaten to run the length of her spine, but she suppressed it and met his eyes.  He clicked his tongue, looking at nothing in particular and remarked, "I could turn him into beef jerky.  I've been looking for an excuse to."

"No, thanks.  I could still use him around and alive for a while." she answered.

The Joker laughed abruptly and she flinched as he threw his head back.  He continued to laugh, and Harley, who'd been inching closer to him, stepped back.  Stitches on the other hand, dashed forward and positioned herself as his knee, grinning madly.

"You've already gotten into the swing of things, kid!  I wonder what cell number you'll get in Arkham." he said once he'd calmed down a bit.

"Come again?" Wraith said, thrown for a loop.

"Arkham.  Big asylum.  Sits on a hill outside of prying eyes.  You visited there once a week for the past several months.  Anything I'm saying ringing a bell?"

"B-but!  I can't go to Arkham!" she protested, "I'm not—"

"Crazy?" the Joker finished, and she fell silent.  He went on in a smooth, low voice, "I think you are, Wraith.  You just said you could use the Scarecrow for a while longer.  You wouldn't mind him dead, but for the time being, you're willing to use him as much as he uses you.  Beyond that, your personality is changing.  Far as I recall you were a moony-eyed little college student, innocent as can be, coming around and being sweet to a bunch of nutjobs.  Now look at you!"

Wraith stared down at her hands, staring between her wristband and manacle.  Was she really that different?  How could she have changed so fast?

"Not to mention, you've actually apprenticed yourself to the good doctor of fear," he added casually, "Where I'm concerned, he and I are the two most powerful minds in Arkham, we're just the two different extremes of the spectrum."  He smacked his lips once or twice and looked at her, black eyes half-lidded, and raised an eyebrow.  "Takes a mind already a little crazy to become understudy to one of us two."

"I'm not crazy," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.

"See, you can tell yourself that all you want, but you've just got to come to terms with the insanity.  You're as much a monster as the rest of us on the inside, you've just not had time to hone it.  But you will.  After all, we've all got big, bad bogeymen in our pasts.  And yours put those wings on you." he said, nodding at her third pair of extremities.

Wraith's insides went cold.  That insight was almost dead on.  She couldn't remember much before the foster home, but she knew that whoever her bogeyman was, he _did_ have a connection to her wings somehow.

"I'm right, aren't I?" the Joker hissed, leaning closer to her.  "This bogeyman of yours.  Freaked you out bad, didn't he?  That's why you can't remember anything.  And you know what'll happen when you do?"

She looked him in the eye.

"It'll break you.  Complete mental breakdown, Wraith.  If you're not crazy now, you'll be insane then."

He stood to leave.

"I look forward to seeing you snap." he said, and with a flourish of his coattails, he swept to the opposite end of the room, Stitches at his heels.

Guen was shaking.  No longer did she feel like Wraith, untouchable and invincible.  No, now she was Guenhivyre Pendragon again, trembling alone on a stool in a shabby diner, filled with the dread she might be going insane.

"Ahh, ignore him.  He does that to everyone," Rook remarked, then noticing her shaking, he said, "Pendragon?  Hey, you okay?"

"I…I….I need to get some air." she squeaked, stumbling from the stool to the door.  She practically fell to her knees on the sidewalk outside, curling up into a ball, bringing her knees up to her chest.

_You're going insane, Pendragon.  And if Batman ever finds you, he'll turn you over to the GCPD and you'll be locked up in Arkham, along with all the other crazies.  You can't help it.  You can't even remember your past before a couple months after your eighth birthday.  And when you do remember it, you really ARE going to be insane._

She heard the diner door open and close and a shadow fell over her.

"What's wrong, sistah?  You bolted faster than Al Capone at a bounty hunter convention." Banshee asked.

"I doubt Capone would have bolted at a bounty hunter convention.  He probably would've walked right in there, shooting at the ceiling, daring them all to catch him." she remarked with a dry chuckle.  "No, I was…I was talking to your boss, if you didn't notice."

"I saw.  What'd he say to you?" Banshee sat down next her.  Guen could feel the younger girl's eyes on her, watching her closely.

"He.  He said." she stuttered.

_Wood flying everywhere.  The chair in pieces.  Her brother's hand, his concerned tone of voice.  Someone she couldn't see, lying unconscious at her feet._

"He said that I'm going crazy." Guen answered, and Banshee blinked at her, surprised.  She continued, "And—and the thing is…I seriously think I might be going crazy.  I mean, he's got a point.  I'd have to be partially crazy already to chase after Dr. Crane the way I do, and try to get him to take me on as an apprentice.  And…and…then there's my past I can't remember.  All I know is that I've been told time and again I can't remember anything before I was eight because it was just too traumatizing.  That I shut my own memories down so I wouldn't be able to remember what happened.  But now this guy shows up, says he's my long-lost brother, and I'm starting to get these weird flashbacks of…something."

"Wait wait wait wait wait!  You said this guy shows up and just happens to be your brother?" Banshee said, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Less than an hour ago, when the Scarecrow and I encountered the Batman on the roof of Gotham City Museum, there was this guy with him.  Some new yahoo posing as a vigilante, calls himself Incubus.  He says he's my brother.  And here's the weird thing: he might be.  Because I vaguely remember someone in my flashbacks whom I…whom I saw as a brother, because he saved me from…something.  UGH!!  I'm so confused right now!  I don't know what to do any more!" Guen ranted, ending in a tiny whimper.  
For a moment, all was silent.  She watched a car drive down the street and out of sight, feeling very stupid and small for ranting about her concerns to a girl she barely knew.  Heck, the kid wasn't even fifteen yet!  She shouldn't even be loading her worries off onto the girl!

"Listen, sweetie.  I know it's hard, but I don't think that you're going crazy.  Or if you are, it's going to take a lot to get you there," Banshee said softly, with the voice of a woman who should be much older, "Because you're one of the nicest people I have met in a long time."

Guen looked up at her, questioning without saying anything.  Banshee took a deep breath and looked her in the eye.

"I accidentally killed my mother when I was seven." she said, not batting a lash.

Guen couldn't believe what she was hearing.  No way.  No way!

"Please, just listen, it's not what you think." Banshee continued, waving her hand dismissively. "See, when I was seven, all of my grandparents were already dead, my parents were both "only child's" and the same went for me.  I was big into ghosts as a kid, and I thought I knew everything about them, but I was still scared of them.  I just wouldn't admit it.  
"I woke up one night because I heard screaming.  At first, I just thought it was my parents fighting again.  They would always fight, and I didn't understand anything about what was going on between them, just that they only yelled at each other when I wasn't around to see it.  I think it had something to do with my daddy having ties to the Gotham mafia.  Anyway, this time was different.  The screaming went on and I heard something crash, and then there was this weird shuffling noise.

"Sometimes I wonder what would've happened if I just stayed in bed.  Sometimes I don't.  But I didn't.  Mom screamed again, so I got out of bed and went to the kitchen.  They always fought there.  But this time…this time I saw my daddy on the floor, covered in blood, eyes wide open, staring at me.  I was terrified, and when I looked up, I saw a banshee."

Guen shifted a little, both frightened and interested.  Was this how she'd gotten her namesake?

"It was coming for me, and I was so scared.  I didn't know what else to do, except what made sense to me at the time." Banshee turned her face away, focusing on the sidewalk as she spoke in a low voice.  "There was a steak knife on the counter, left over from dinner.  The banshee kept coming toward me, so I grabbed it and just…stabbed.  I didn't know what else to do, I was so scared.  I stabbed over and over and over, crying the whole time.  And when it finally fell, I cried some more.  I don't know why I thought she was a ghost, or why I thought she was coming for me, but I couldn't help it."

Guen sucked in a breath, and let it out slowly.  How could Banshee live with that knowledge on her mind?  Her childhood had been ripped from her!

"I ran away, right after that.  Didn't know where I ought to go, but I found an apartment complex in the neighborhood that was mostly abandoned.  Lots of gangs hung out there during the day, so I ran into one of the apartments, and just curled up there and cried myself to sleep.  Went back to the house the next day, and each day after that, just grabbing what food and clothes I needed.  The cops had been called and everything, but I got past them each time.  Maybe I was lucky, maybe they were stupid, maybe both.  Time went by, and it was only by asking people when I went walking to find more food that I knew how much time had passed.

"So it was about three months after that that I came home and found some guy had broken into "my" apartment, trying to find any cash or something of value.  Guess he'd seen what little light coming from the apartment that I had on.  I tried to tell him to get out, tried fighting him, and he put a gun to my head.  Even now, I still don't know how I did it, but I figure I tripped him or something…but whatever it was, the gun ended up in my hands either way, and I shot him.  Shot him until the gun ran out of ammo.  Again, I'd killed someone, and again, I didn't know what to do.  I ran from the apartment, ran outside, all up and down the blocks around the area.  And then it happened, like a godsend or something.  One of the crime bosses, Rupert Thorne, had a warrant out with a bounty on this guy's head, same guy I'd just finished shooting.  Nothing major, just three hundred dollars.  But hey, when you're seven, that's a hella lotta cash."

"So did you turn him in to them?" Guen asked, surprised at her own morbid curiosity at this point, and Banshee nodded.

"I called the number they had from a local phone.  They didn't believe me at first, but they came over anyway, and when they did, they paid more an extra two hundred.  And these." Banshee lovingly caressed the Uzi's she wore on her hip.  "Don't know why they thought I would know how to use 'em, but I ended up learning.  For a long time I stole money, food, clothes, whatever.  A couple of local guys thought I was cute, like a little sister, and they helped me to learn how to fight.  Three years went by, and eventually, I got to thinking I could use a real job.  So I called the mafia again.  They remembered me, but they weren't going to leap at the prospect of hiring a kid.  Looks bad on the rep sheet and all, you know?  But I kept bugging them, and finally somebody who answered the phones complained to Rupert Thorne.  Well, I guess he was tickled by the idea that I wanted to work for him, so he took me in.  Said I was like a daughter to him, had me trained on how to properly use my Uzi's, how to fight, how to work as a hired gun, everything.  I was ready to take on every bounty I could that Mr. Thorne had up.  Five years of this went by, and every time I was giving a job, I either did away with the sap who'd gotten on Mr. Thorne's bad side, or brought them back to him and let his boys take care of the messy business."

Guen shivered, and not from the cool night breeze.  "Mm, so how'd you end up with the Joker?" she asked, wondering how that piece fell into the puzzle.  Banshee smiled.

"Well, by this time, Thorne's boys were calling me the Banshee, and I took to the name, wailing every time I made a kill, so I went looking for a big bounty to really earn my name on.  Thorne had the Joker written up for about a million, dead or alive.  For the last six months, I made him my target, because I'd heard all about how he was so elusive, so hard to get.  Six months of attempts and each of them failed.  Finally I figured, 'if you can't beat 'em, join 'em,' and so that's what I did.  Next time I saw him, asked if I could join.  He told me yes, surprisingly enough, provided I'm one of his human shields."

Guen stared at Banshee's serious face in disbelief.

"And you actually _agreed_ to that?!" she spluttered.

Banshee shrugged.

"Good lord, you're—" she stopped herself, biting her lip, feeling insensitive.

"Go ahead, girl.  You can say it.  Makes no difference to me." Banshee said with a shrug, though Guen noticed her hand moving back toward her gun holsters.

"You're…crazy."  she whispered,  "And for once…I can't blame you.  With all that, I really can't blame you."

Banshee relaxed, dropping her hand away from her guns, and nodded.

"Crazy." she agreed.  "But hey, crazy's not all bad."

"So what about Mr. Thorne?  You can't possibly live with these two conflicting loyalties, can you?  What are you going to do about that?  What if he puts a bounty on your head?" Guen asked her.

"Simple.  If he doesn't, I'll still go back and visit sometimes.  If he does, I'll kill him and all of his bounty-happy boys."  Banshee answered casually, as if the solution were the easiest to figure out.

"I see." Guen said, looking back at the sidewalk.  Only fifteen and already a homicidal killer in the employ of both the Joker and Rupert Thorne!  Banshee almost gave her chills.  But every time she glanced at her, Guen glimpsed a sort of faraway sadness hidden deep in those soft brown eyes, and knew she couldn't hate the girl.  For the most part, Banshee, like her, was a victim of circumstance.

"See, kid?  We've all got problems." Banshee said, patting her shoulder.

"Kid?!   _You_ are calling _me_ kid?!" Guen stuttered, "Last I checked, I'm four years older than you!"

"But you don't have the same life experience." Banshee pointed out.

"Doesn't mean anything!"

"Sure it does."

Here she had to pause.  The girl did make a point.

Banshee smiled at her warmly.  "Hey, we each have different experiences in our past.  Why don't we call it even?  When either of us needs a shoulder to lean on, we've got each other."

"Are you trying to say that we're just going to call each other 'sister' and that makes up for it?" Guen asked.

"Yeah.  Wraith and Banshee.  The Ghost Sisters." she answered, grinning mischievously.  "I like it.  It's got a nice ring to it."

***

_[[Two Days Later]]_

Jervis was just escorting Erin to the park when he heard a rustling behind them.  He froze on the spot, looking this way and that.  Erin, a smile still on her face, looked up at him quizzically.

"No need to be alarmed, my dear, but I believe someone may be following us." he said softly, and Erin looked around also, trying to find the source of her beloved's discomfort.  For a while, they could see no one.  She frowned.  He'd been jumpy the past two days, since they'd seen Guen on the news and had spoken with that strange man.  Not that she could entirely blame him.  The guy had had some kind of manic glint in his eye when he'd spoken to them, and as much as she tried to keep it hidden from Jervis, the man had given her the creeps.  Thankfully, they'd not seen him since, but still, Jervis kept twitching at every little noise that seemed out of place.

"I do hope I'm not interrupting anything." came a soft, deep voice, and the two of them whirled around, to see a tall, skinny man in a green-and-black jumpsuit.  Erin smiled warmly, and even Jervis tipped his hat.

"Eddy!  I didn't know you were out of Arkham!" Erin said.

"Yes, on business," he answered.  "I've been hired to help solve a mystery of sorts.  The man thought my brilliant mind could be better used to help him.  But I happened to notice you two were in the area, and I have pressing matters on my mind that need to have a voice that needs a willing aural friend."

"He means he needs to talk." Erin said to Jervis, on seeing his confused expression.  She turned back to the brunette man.  "Why, what's wrong, Eddy?"

"I would prefer the discussion be kept exclusive, Miss Knightly.  If you don't mind, Jervis." the Riddler said gently, nodding to Jervis.

"Oh, of course not, Edward old boy." Jervis said, backing away, and moving over to a picnic table some distance away.  He knew that Edward and Erin were good friends, and unlike most other men, Edward seemed to have no designs on stealing Erin's heart.  Yes, he was a decent, brilliant man whom Jervis Tetch respected, so it was no problem letting them talk.

"Please, can we sit down?" the Riddler asked, indicating a park bench, and Erin nodded, slightly worried.  She sat down first, and then Eddy finally took a seat next to her, long dark hair billowing about his face in the twilight breeze.

"I've had a pressing matter on my mind for some time Erin.  I want your help with it."

"If it's a puzzle, Eddy—"

"Not the sort you're thinking about." he cut her off quickly.

Now Erin was really confused, and her mind began racing through everything that could be wrong when she saw his expression.  What had her dear friend so upset?

"Miss Knightly, you're friends with Guen…right?" he said softly, and Erin nodded.  "Guenhivyre and I have been speaking for some time, ever since she first started making her trips to Arkham.  I've told her I consider her a sister to me, and she has been so kind, treating me like an actual human being right from the start."

Erin smiled.  It made her happy to know that Guen had such a kind heart, to see Edward as another human being when so many people labeled him an insane criminal, and to treat him with friendship.

"But lately…well…the problem is, I was so angry when I heard Jonathan had kidnapped her.  He's never had much respect for her, and it made me furious.  Well, less than a day or so later, a man showed up to see me, to offer me a job.  This man introduced himself as Logann Pendragon." Edward went on.  Erin chewed her lower lip.  While she could understand his anger at Jonathan, she didn't get why Eddy was bringing up this man.  Clearly he had to be a relative of Guen's, what with the last name Pendragon.  It wasn't exactly a commonplace surname these days.

"See, Guenhivyre grew up in foster care, and doesn't remember her life before being placed in that system," the Riddler explained to his friend's puzzled frown, "Logann says he's Guenhivyre's long-lost brother.  Whether he is or isn't, I'm still working on deducing, but it's plain that they are family.  You only have to look at him to see the resemblance.  But that's not the point!  I've been doing a lot of thinking these past few days—"

"Eddy, do you ever stop thinking?" Erin joked, but he pressed on as though she'd not said anything.

"And…and…Oh, Erin, you must help me!" he seized her hands and looked at her pleadingly, on the verge of tears.  "This is one puzzle even I don't know the answer for!  I've fallen in love with Guenhivyre!"

Erin was thrown for a loop.  That was the last thing she'd been expecting.  Still, she smiled, and considered how best to help.

***

Jervis watched the two of them sit down, only mildly interested.  He glanced around the park, watching several families leave as the twilight really started to settle in.  He sighed happily, thinking of the day he and Erin might come here with little ones of their own, to have a mad tea picnic.  Oh, the idea was simply wonderful!

He was still lost in his daydream, when a cold voice abruptly startled him, saying, "Is this seat taken?"

He looked up, and saw the man from before indicating the opposite bench on the picnic table.  Jervis surpressed a shudder and shook his head, desperately hoping the man would just leave.

He didn't.  Instead, he dropped into the seat smoothly, a smile on his face that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Having a nice evening, Mister Tetch?" he asked casually, and Jevis glared at him, which didn't faze the man in the least, and he pressed on, "Of course you are.  You're out with your girlfriend, after all.  Though I must say it's quite lucky Edward Nygma showed up to distract her for a while, otherwise I wouldn't get to have this nice little chat with you."

"What do you want, you horrible bandersnatch?" Jervis snapped, and the man's smile grew wider.

"For the time being?  Just to chat.  After all, I couldn't help but notice your expression the other day when Miss Knightly brought up Miss Pendragon.  You looked like you wanted to learn the proper way to strangle someone.  Since you and Miss Knightly seem to be doing well enough to go on a date to the park, I assume that look was reserved for Pendragon." he remarked, twining his fingers together before him.

"What's it to you?" Jervis spat.  He was liking the guy less and less by the minute.  Glancing over at Edward and Erin, he found himself wishing they'd wrap up their conversation, and soon.

"Everything, Mr. Tetch.  It means everything to me.  I'm guesssing that Miss Pendragon did something to anger you recently?" he said firmly, and Jervis nodded.

"She deliberately impersonated Alice in order to mock me.  And then tried to act casual when I found out." he hissed, and the man nodded calmly, taking it in stride.

"Curious.  But that's not the point.  The point is, you're looking for the perfect opportunity to do away with Guenhivyre, Mr. Tetch.  And quite frankly, I can't allow for that to happen."

Startled, Jervis looked the man in his cold dark eyes.  He was sure there was a threat hidden in those words, but for some reason, his courage had fled him.

"Instead, I'm willing to strike a deal with you, my friend." the man said, that vile grin spreading across his face again.  "Lend me some of your technology, leave Pendragon alone, and I assure you, she'll never bother you again."

"My technology?  Ha!  And they say _I'm_ living in Wonderland!  What's your game, sir?"

Immediately Jervis wished he hadn't asked.  A strange expression stole over the man's features, and his tongue slowly flicked out and roved over his lips, like an explorer trying to beat a new path over an old waste.

"My game?  I have no game, Mr. Tetch.  No, it's Guenhivyre I want, and Guenhivyre I shall have.  She is mine.  She has always been mine.  And she'll realize that once I'm reunited with her," the man said huskily, drifting off into his own thoughts for a moment before his eyes locked with Jervis's again, "And to that end, I need her.  And I need her safe, unharmed and unmarred by anyone.  So that's why I need you to take this deal, Mr. Tetch.  I want my pet to stay safe, and if you're any sort of boyfriend, then you want the same of Miss Knightly.  I would _hate_ to have to resort to _harming_ an innocent if anything happens to my Guenhivyre."

Furious, Jervis caught Erin and Edward approaching out of the corner of his eye, and feeling much emboldened, grabbed the man by his jacket collar.  The man's eyes widened in surprise, but he didn't seem too thrown off.

"You dare to harm Erin, and it'll be off with your head before you can blink, sir!" Jervis roared, shoving the man away from him.

"Jervis, what's going on?!" Erin cried, rushing to her boyfriend's side.

"This mangy cur is trying to threaten our happiness, my dear." Jervis said coldly.

"So.  I'm guessing this means you're going to take the stupid choice on my deal, my friend.  Disappointing.  I thought the Mad Hatter was alledgedly brilliant, but I suppose I heard wrong." the man said mockingly.

Erin, in a rare moment of indignant anger, strode up to guy as he was getting to his feet, whipped a 10/6 card from her apron, and despite Jervis's shout of protest, stuck it behind the man's ear.

"Why don't you just, oh, I don't know, skydive off a high-rise without a parachute, creep?" she growled.

But to her astonishment, the man looked at her, and smiled evilly.

"Once again, Miss Knightly, you've proven yourself valuable." he said in a mocking tone, pulling the card from behind his ear.  "My thanks.  This little sample is all I needed.  Pity your boyfriend wasn't so willing to take up my generous offer, but clearly you have more sense than him."

"Here now, what's the meaning of all this?" the Riddler demanded, leaning in close, but the man didn't even blink.

"Sealing a business deal," he said lightly before turning to Erin and baring his teeth in the most evil grin he could.  "Give my regards to Guen the next time you see her.  After all, we're going to be reunited soon."

"Guen?!  What's the meaning of this?" Edward demanded, seizing the man's jacket collar as Jervis had done, but before he could do much else, there was a pop and a hiss, and smoke filled the air, assaulting their lungs, and they couldn't move for coughing.  When the smoke cleared, the man had vanished.

"He didn't seem like the type to use smoke pellets!" Erin coughed.

"Doesn't matter!" Edward growled, "If he's out to hurt Guenhivyre—!"

"Eddy, calm down!" Erin said, gently touching her friend on his arm, before turning to her boyfriend, "Jervis, what did he want?!  Why did he say he was going to be reunited with Guen?!"

Jervis's insides grew cold.  He desperately, desperately wanted to tell Erin, but that man…

"He wanted to have a look at some of my technology," Jervis answered, "And it turns out he's an old friend of Miss Pendragon's."

At once Erin relaxed, but the Riddler scowled darkly, and Jervis gulped.  Of course, leave it to Edward Nygma to see right through his lie.  But that man…why did he seem so familiar?

"Jervis?" Erin asked tentatively.

"That man…I've seen him somewhere before."

"Yes, we ran into him the other night, silly." Erin said, walking up to him and smiling, wrapping her arms around his waist.

"No, no Erin.  I mean, I know him from somewhere.  I've seen him before, some time ago.  Before I became the Mad Hatter."


	14. Investigation

Guen was busy polishing the sword she'd just lifted two hours ago, trying to make the blade shine as radiant as the noonday sun.  She wasn't sure why she'd taken it, only that a trip to an antiques shop had gone terribly awry, and she'd ended up stealing this as well.  Needless to say, the Scarecrow made it quite clear he wasn't impressed with what was turning out to be a crime spree of nothing but theft.  Still, Guen couldn't quite explain to him why she'd needed it.  She just had.

Sighing, she placed the sword gently on top of the filing cabinet, next to the vase and the box.  Stepping back, she examined her little collection with a frown, trying to understand why the items had called to her, and why these items in particular.

"Admiring our work, are we?" said a voice dripping with sarcasm, and Guen jumped, whirling around to see Jonathan Crane staring down his nose at her, arms crossed and a foot tapping impatiently.

"Dr. Crane!" she gasped, a hand flying to her heart, "I hadn't heard you come in."  She bit her tongue to avoid saying more, trying to look him only in the eye.   _Damn it, Pendragon, what do you see in the man?  He may look good, but he's at least twice your age, completely insane, and a convicted criminal!_

"Clearly," he answered dryly, and his eyes flicked up to the items on the filing cabinet, "Interesting hobby, though I didn't expect your ego to be so high you had to steal after your namesake."

"Huh?  What??" Guen said dumbly, not following.  Her namesake?  What the heck…?

"Not that that's important at the moment.  I've come to say that I am rather disappointed in your behavior, Guenhivyre.  I thought you wished to be my disciple." he said in a steely voice, his gray-blue eyes boring into her.  Her stomach seemed to vanish, and her heart sank as she looked up at him.

"It's not that I mean I do I just can't help myself I don't know how to explain it but I know you've been getting angry with me and I really do want—"

"Guenhivyre.  You're babbling again."

"Oh, right.  S-sorry.  But I do want to be your student, Dr. Crane!  I just…I can't explain…." She stammered, lowering her gaze to the ground.  She nervously tucked a flyaway strand of hair behind her ear, feeling her wings flutter and wilt.  Was he going to throw her out?  Did he have no use for her anymore?  Her heart started to pound at the thought, beating a tattoo on her ribs in panic, and her wings snapped open and shut.

"Well I must say you have a strange way of showing it, Guenhivyre.  And let me assure you, I don't appreciate students who become easily distracted.  I dealt with enough of those when I still had my teaching license." he said evenly, examining his fingernails as though there were nothing more fascinating in the room.

"I-I'm sorry, sir.  I promise I will do better in the future to pay attention." she said,  staring down at her combat boots, a shiver moving through her wings.  For a moment, she was met with only silence.  Then two long, thin fingers tilted her chin up and back and she met that gray gaze.

"I'm sure you will, Guenhivyre.  After all, with as independent as you're getting with frightening the mundanes, there is hope for you." he said gently.  "Still, I don't like the idea of you trying to go freelance while under my tutelage."

_You mean you don't like me having a mind of my own, Mr. Control Freak_. she commented to herself, but outwardly she nodded.  Might as well keep him happy.  He smiled at her, and she felt her heart nearly skip a beat.  The man had no clue what he did to women.

Without warning, the door crashed open, and they both jumped, spinning around to see—

"Knock, knock, Scary.  I do hope I'm not…interrupting anything." came a proud, smarmy voice.

"Eddy!" Guen cried, rushing forward and tackling the Riddler in a tight hug.  "Eddy, it's so good to see you!  How are you?  You didn't run away from Arkham?" Her thrill suddenly turned to dread.  Eddy had been doing so well; had he thrown it all away since she'd last been to the asylum?

"No, no," he answered calmly, giving her a warm smile, tucking back strands of her hair, "I've been hired, legally of course."

"Nygma, while I appreciate the company of your intellect—" Jonathan growled behind them, but Edward started speaking loudly over him.

"Did you hear that?" he practically yelled, and looked dramatically up to the ceiling, "God?  My brilliance is becoming a burden!  People can spot it when I walk into a room.  Please get back to me."

She tried biting her lip, but Guen was too late to supress the gigglefits that followed.  And when she saw the expression on Jonathan Crane's face, it only made it worse, and she found herself doubled over, clutching her sides in laughter.  Just as she was calming down a bit, something gently brushed her feathers, and she jerked up right, instantly sobered, and looked wild-eyed at Eddy.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked quietly, a pained expression on his masked face.  Guen's anger melted away and she felt her heart sink.  She hadn't meant to hurt him.

"Eddy, I…I mean, I didn't want to—"

"Don't you trust me?" he asked, and she was on the verge of tears.  He thought she didn't trust him?  But he knew she did!

Why did it hurt so much to see him upset?

"A-hem!" coughed an annoyed voice, and they glanced up at Jonathan, who was crossing his arms again, "If we are quite finished with this soap opera of a reunion, would either of you mind explaining to me what in the name of Lovecraft is going on?"

"Perhaps if you could keep a civil tongue in that head of yours." the Riddler spat, glaring daggers at the bespectacled man.

"Eddy!" Guen gasped, astonished that her friend would be so vehement toward his fellow criminal.  Surely he hadn't always been this antagonistic toward Dr. Crane?

"Relax, Guenhivyre.  As I said, I was hired out…by a man who claims to be your brother." the Riddler said gently, placing one of his hands on her shoulder, electric jolts racing through her skin.  Then she took in what he was saying.

"My brother??" she said, and Jonathan snorted.

"Impossible!  Unless of course your new employer runs about with other vigilantes in tights after dark."  he remarked, and the Riddler raised an eyebrow at him.

"I do not know whether or not Mr. Pendragon takes to vigilante work when our backs our turned, but the small team I've assembled has been asked to bring Guenhivyre too him." he shot back, then looked at Guen, "He says he's been trying to find you for a long time."

Guen's heart pounded, her mind swirling in confusion.  Another brother?  Or the same man…?  And what in the world was going on?  Why was Edward Nygma having this effect on her?

"My apologies, Nygma," Jonathan snapped, striding toward them, "But I simply won't allow this to happen.  Guenhivyre is staying right where she is."

Her mind began to race.  Thinking on her feet, she raised her hands.

"Guenhivyre?  What do you think you're doing?" he shouted, lunging for her.

And she brought the manacle and the wristband together with a resounding ping.  At once, she felt sleepy, as though caught somewhere between dreaming and waking, and she lost all sense of feeling, of solidity.  She didn't know where her stomach was, her feet, her wings.  And when she blinked once or twice, all of her that remained solid were the ornaments on her wrists.  The next second, Jonathan fell right through where she should be, crashing to the floor at the Riddler's feet, who looked shocked, but recovered quickly, sneering down at the professor.

"Tell me, Scary.  What is full of straw, has no brains, and catches fire easily?" he purred, the effect making his black lipstick look menacing.  Jonathan looked up with a snarl just in time to see the golden, hook-end of the Riddler's question-mark cane come crashing down on his head, a wicked grin on its owner's face.

"Eddy!" Guen shrieked again.

"Don't worry, I only knocked him out for a while," he answered calmly, shouldering his cane before looking at her.  "You didn't tell me about this either.  No one did.  How?"  He indicated her transparent form.

"I—I'm not sure, but that's not the point!  You can't just do that to Jonathan!"

"Oh, so it's Jonathan now, but not when he's conscious to hear it?"

"What? No!"  she cried, "That's not the point!"

"No, this is," he responded, waving the hook-end of the cane, "And he'll be fine.  The good doctor has recovered from worse, after all.  Now.  How?" he repeated firmly.

"Th-the manacle and the wristband.  This happens when I bring them together, but I don't know why." she answered, showing them to him, "And I don't know why they remain solid and stay on me at the same time." Sighing, she stepped away from Jonathan and out of the room, followed closely by the Riddler.  After they were a good distance away, she brought the manacle and her wristband together again and she was solid once more.  Abruptly her stomach lurched and her limbs felt like they'd been filled with lead.  Dizzy, she staggered, nearly losing her balance, and Eddy caught her, those strange, sweet jolts going through her.

_What's happening to me?  Does he have any idea?_

Pulling her along, they made haste, tearing out of the laboratory as fast as they were able, hoping against hope that Jonathan Crane wouldn't awake and be on their heels.  Edward made for the parking garage, and there was an SUV waiting, with a familiar face behind the wheel.

"Trick Deck!" Guen cried, smiling, and the girl gave her a two-fingered salute, and the Penguin, in the passenger's seat, inclined his head to her politely.  That threw Guen off her balance again.  Trick Deck and the Penguin??  She wouldn't have pegged her with him, but then, Guen was still getting used to the idea that she herself was now a wanted criminal.  Eddy threw one of the side doors open, and offered her his hand to help her step up and in.  She hesitated before taking it, and felt that tingling again, this time accompanied by an odd yet pleasant, warm weight.

"Come on, we don't have all day to just dick around, you know!" Trick Deck griped from the front seat, and Oswald Cobblepot turned a withering look on her.

"Language, my little bird.  You must speak as is becoming of a young lady such as yourself." he reminded her gently, and she turned pink in the face.

"Alright, we're ready." the Riddler said, slamming the door shut once and he and Guen had taken their seats.  "Knock yourself out, smarty."

Trick Deck grinned and interpreted this order as "floor it."  Guen let out an initial squeak of shock as they took off, but she calmed down a bit, although her heart took longer to slow down than her mind.

"Consider yourself lucky, newbie.  If it weren't for Erin Knightly knowing how to get ahold of Dr. Crane whenever she wants, we might not have been able to find the place.  That's how we knew to stake the lab out, in spite of those signs that were put up." Trick Deck explained, rounding a sharp corner like she was steering a roller coaster.

"Where did the gambler acquire the legal authorization to maneuver a vehicle?" the Riddler muttered darkly, gripping the arms of his seat as though trying to keep them from suddenly flying off.

"Please, Edward, no more riddles." the Penguin sighed in a long-suffering tone.

"Put me behind the wheel and there won't be." he responded.

"Oh, quit complaining, Edward."

A sudden thought hit Guen.  "You know, all of you know my real name.  And I know everyone's except _yours_." she said pointedly to Trick Deck, who grinned at her in the rearview mirror.

"I suppose I might as well tell you, Guen.  After all, I like you, and it's not often that happens right off the bat.  My name is May.  May Markowitz." she answered.

"Glad to meet you, May.  Although perhaps you might prefer your professional name?"

"Call me mine, I'll call you yours."

"Got it." Guen said with a relieved smile.

Promptly, with another grin, Trick Deck turned on the radio, flipping through channels until she found one she wanted, much to dismay of her male passengers.

"Hey, I know this song!" Guen piped up, and together, they sang along with the radio to La Roux's "Bulletproof."  Relaxing immensely, Guen found the time passed rather quickly as they made their way from Crane Chemical Labs further into the heart of Gotham.  She wasn't sure how long her friend had been driving, only that soon they parked in front of a skyscraper with a penthouse on the top floor.  Running along the side of the tower, in enormous green letters were the words "Dragon's Blood, Inc."  She shivered.  Was this really her brother's company?  Good lord, the man must have a fortune to rival Bruce Wayne's!  Gulping slightly, she stared up, wondering in silence.

"Is everything alright, Guenhivyre?" the Riddler asked gently when he noticed her gaze.

"It's…it's just…I've already met a man who says he's my brother, but he hides his face.  I don't even know the guy's name…And now…Eddy, do you really think this Pendragon guy is my brother?  I know we have the same last name, but I still feel…" she fell short and bit her lip, her mind aching with all the implications.

"It'll be alright, Guen, you'll see." Trick Deck said, opening her door and sliding out, the Penguin following her lead.

"Guenhivyre," the Riddler said gently, taking her hands in his and making her heart race without warning, "I'm not sure what to make of Logann Pendragon.  He might be your brother, he might not.  But one thing is for sure, and that is when you see him, you'll realize the resemblance between you two is astounding."

"Logann…?" she whispered.

_A man was standing over her, looking down at her, shaking his head in disappointment.  "Another failure.  Upsetting."  He scratched away at a clipboard._

_"Maybe something went wrong with the injection, Dr. Dorian?" a voice said gently._

_"No, Kirk.  After all, the boy—what's his name? Logann?—he has already shown signs of a surfacing mutation." Dorian answered.  "Perhaps the girl is not the right carrier." He sighed, massaging his brow in frustration.  Guen thought he looked like a grumpy old cat._

_"Only one boy has shown the signs, the other still has yet to yield any results from the testing." Kirk Langstrom argued, coming over and giving her a paternal smile, ruffling her hair, and she smiled back.  Dr. Langstrom was a nice man, and he didn't always talk about her like she wasn't there._

_"If I may make a suggestion?" said a new voice._

Guen's blood turned to ice in her veins.  That voice!

_"Perhaps higher estrogen levels in a specimen might be slowing the process down.  Maybe it'll just take longer to surface in Guenhivyre." it went on, and she hugged her tiny arms.  A pair of cold, dark brown eyes were staring at her intently._

"Guen?" the Riddler's soft voice brought her sharply back into reality and she nearly jumped.

"S-sorry.  Lost in thought, I suppose." she replied, taking his hand and stepping down out of the vehicle.   _What was that?  Are my memories coming back and trying to tell me something?  Is it that this Logann Pendragon is my brother?  And that voice…No, there's no way.  But still…if that was the person Joker said is my bogeyman_ …Another shudder racked her frame, and her wings opened, a white-hot pain shooting through them.  She whimpered, and clutched her sides, trying not to cry out as the pain intensified, and loud cracking noises sounded behind her.

"Guen!  Your wings!" Edward cried, reaching for her.  And just as soon as it had started, the pain leaving her in a cold sweat, shivering like she'd just been caught out in the rain for several hours, tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Extraordinary!" the Penguin said, walking toward her.  "They grew on their own!"

'They what?!" Guen cried, jerking upright, reaching over her shoulder to feel the soft, feathered limbs.  Sure enough, she couldn't feel the tips of them anymore, but that was to be expected.

"They grew.  At least by two inches!" Trick Deck said, looking at the wings fluttering on her back, stretching to their new length.

"What an interesting coloration," the Penguin remarked, "I wish I could remember the specifics, my dear.  If I could, I would tell you exactly which bird you carry the DNA of."

"Bird DNA?" she whispered.

"Well, duh!  What, you think you're half-angel or something?" Trick Deck snorted, giggling.

"She could've fooled me with that long fall of hers." the Riddler piped up, giving Guen a mischievous smile, and she felt her stomach tie itself in knots.

"Now if all is well, we ought to be heading up.  We don't want to keep Mr. Pendragon waiting." the Penguin said matter-of-factly.  And as one, the four of them headed inside, crossing the vast lobby with a fountain— _A fountain!  He has got to be stinking, filthy rich!_ Guen said to herself in shock—and took one of the elevators to the 8th level of the tower, a lighthearted tune playing as they rode.  The doors opened to a hallway done in chestnut wood panel siding and black, rose-patterned carpets.

_Good lord, even Poison Ivy would approve!_ Guen thought with a snicker as they passed a display of flowers to a door.  The Penguin flipped his umbrella over, and gently knocked the handle on the door three times in a quick rhythm.

"Enter." said a voice inside, a deep, rich voice that set her mind to thinking of Camelot, Arthur, Avalon, and Merlin.

Trick Deck came to the front and opened the door, revealing a large conference room with an enormous round table set in its center.  A figure was seated at the far side, shuffling through the contents of a manila folder, but when they entered, he looked up, caught her eye and froze, blinking.

"Mr. Pendragon, if I may introduce—" the Riddler said, clearing his throat.

"Guenhivyre." the man said breathlessly in that hypnotic, lovely voice.  He shut the folder as if mesmerized, set it on the table, and walked around to come and stand before her, and Guen gripped Eddy's hand for support, surprising herself.  He hadn't been lying!  Were it not for the fact Logann Pendragon was a tall man with a well-toned physique under that business suit, she could've sworn she was looking in a mirror.  Same pale skin, same long, dark hair, same dark green eyes.  He reached out his arms as though about to rush and hug her, but stopped himself, dropping them to his sides, a look of confusion on his face, a vast, old sorrow dancing in the light of his eyes.  Abruptly, he cleared his throat, and put on what Guen swore was an amazing poker face, and thrust his right hand forward for a handshake.

"Logann Pendragon, owner of Dragon's Blood, Inc.  And you, Guenhivyre, are my baby sister.  You've no idea how long it has taken me to find you."

***

That night, Trick Deck was following Logann Pendragon closely, waiting until he'd left the building to turn on the SUV and go after him.  She thanked every car company she could think of for making the engine silent.  Both the Riddler and Ozzy had mentioned that something about Logann's behavior seemed a bit off this afternoon when he'd met Guenhivyre.  Certainly he'd not been what the poor girl was expecting, and he himself had seemed extremely uncomfortable during that time.  Or at least, his eyes kept flickering back and forth all over the room, and he'd constantly played with his manila folder, slowly rotating it the whole time.  May felt bad for Guen.  To think she'd been separated from her brother, whom she only recently remembered, and he'd been so cold and distant, as though they were discussing a business transaction!  Definitely not what even she had been expecting.

She was so lost in thought she almost missed Pendragon turning his sleek car into a gas station, and swerved at last minute to stay behind him.  She snickered as she saw him park, get out of the car, and walk inside.  Something about the high and mighty rich Logann Pendragon doing anything as everyday as going inside a gas station seemed a little comical to her.  She parked the SUV, turned off the lights, and stepped inside, admiring his car on the way.

"Nice.  Though I think a Spyder would be more Logann's style than a Jag." she whispered to herself out loud.

"Whose style, love?" asked a curious English voice, and May spun around, her hand shooting out to cover Magpie's mouth.

"Shhh!!  Keep it down, Ness!" she hissed, ducking behind the aisles, hoping Pendragon hadn't noticed her.  She slowly stood, peeking over the shelves, and saw him picking out a two-liter of Coca-Cola, and then ducked down before he saw her.  She slowly removed her hand.

"What's going on?"

"SSSHHHH!!  Quiet, he'll hear you!  I'm following him: Logann Pendragon!" May whispered, pointing at him over the rows.  Vanessa Cook peeked over the aisle for a moment before ducking back down, eyes sparkling.

"Ooooh!  He's a fittie, mate.  Think you could introduce us?" she said.

"I'm tailing him on Ozzy's orders.  He's the guy that's been employing Eddy and us as of late, but he lives on the penthouse floor of his building.  He has no valid reason to be out and about this late…unless there's something he's not telling us."  She glanced over at her friend and rolled her eyes.  "And before you ask, yes, he's wealthy."

"Oh, now you must introduce me to him!" Ness said, waggling her eyebrows.

"Look, you can tag along if you want, but frankly, if you do anything to give us away to Mr. Pendragon, I'm tossing you out the passenger side window." Trick Deck warned her, and Magpie nodded fervently, grinning.  They watched as Logann purchased a large number of Coke two-liters, left the stunned clerk a ten-dollar tip, and swept out of the station, soda in tow, as he went back to his Jaguar.  The two watched as he drove up to the corner, waiting for an opening in traffic, and made a run for the car, praying they wouldn't lose him.  Trick Deck threw the SUV into drive and shot after the Jag just as it pulled out, and she slowed down just a tad, so as not to seem suspicious.  Not surprisingly, the Jaguar didn't head back in the direction of the Dragon's Blood tower.  Instead, it headed for Gotham Bay Bridge, and took it toward the farthest part of Gotham, further toward the outskirts of the city than even the Scarecrow's lab was.

"What's up with that, huh?" Ness said from the passenger seat, and May gritted her teeth in frustration.  There was definitely something going on that Logann Pendragon wasn't telling them, and that pissed her off.  A part of her mind vaguely brought up the idea that it might be something completely harmless, but she ignored it.  For several years now, May Markowitz had learned that when her gut instincts started to tell her something, it was usually best that she didn't ignore them.  And right now, they were saying that Pendragon had a hidden agenda.

"They say curiosity killed the cat, Yank." Vanessa cautioned her as they pulled out after the Jag, May flicking off the headlights.

"Yes, and they also say that satisfaction brought it back." she answered smugly.

"If you say so."

Logann drove through a woody area until he abruptly turned, and they followed him to a strange, old building that looked like it had seen better days.  He pulled up in the parking lot, which seemed to barely exist for all the overgrowth, next to a strange car that neither girl could place.  Trick Deck parked well enough away from the building, killing the engine, and they waited until they saw Logann go in a side door, carrying his Coca-Cola with him.

"What's he doing here?  And what's with the soda?" Magpie murmured, getting out of the SUV.

"I don't know, but I'm more worried about the other car.  If Mr. Pendragon wants to conduct a business meeting with anyone, why not do it at his office?" Trick Deck replied, locking the door and shutting it.  The SUV chirped once, and they crept toward the building, heading for the side door in the pale light of the half-moon.  They found it easily enough, but when they went for the handle—

"Locked!" Trick Deck growled.

"Stand back, love, I'll take a kip at it.  This is my area of expertise." Magpie said, slipping past her and opening a device similar to a Swiss army knife, except this was full lock-picking tools.  She selected one, and worked at the lock on the door a moment, until there was the tiniest of clicks, and the door creaked inward.

"Nice one." Trick Deck remarked, giving the door a gentle push.

"Cheers."

And they stepped inside the dimly lit hallway, doing their best to remain silent, although they had little trouble with that on the carpeted floor.  They saw several doors, all of which were locked, but Trick Deck waved Magpie off of them.

"Come on, there's bound to be light wherever he went." she breathed, and they moved on, taking a right down the hall until they spotted an open door with light spilling from it.  Excitement building, they moved closer, until they stopped near the door and listened.

"—honestly, now!  I feel so undignified, meeting you here like this." they heard Logann saying, followed by a crack, a hiss, and the sound of something being swallowed.

"Watch it with that Coke.  You know what'll happen if your body stores it until next time." said a cold, hard voice that sent shivers down their spines.

"The hell with that!  You're a creep, an animal!  And you expect me to deliver my sister to you!  Now, when I've just found her again.  You're sick." Logann snapped, and they heard another swallow.

"I never said it had to be now, my friend.  I just said soon.  You can have your little family reunion, but once the novelty of it wears off for her, I'm taking her back." the other man said in steely tones.

A cold hand closed over both girls' hearts as they exchanged a look.  Guen was in trouble!  But how?  And from who?  And why was Logann Pendragon meeting with the man.

"What, you mean like her sash?  Why in the world did you ask me to even take a cut of it?  What are you planning on, you sick freak?" Logann growled.

Trick Deck put a finger to her lips, and pointed down the hall, and Magpie nodded.  Silently, they started to back away, and it would have gone smoothly, if not for a floorboard that creaked underfoot as they were walking away.  They froze.

"What was that?" they heard Logann gasp.

"You fool!  You're supposed to make sure you're not followed!" said the other man.

"Bollocks!" Magpie hissed, and they raced down the hall, Trick Deck ducking into an open door and dragging Magpie in after her.  They pressed their backs to the wall facing away from the door, and someone raced by, and then the side door of the building slammed shut.  Carefully, heart pounding, Magpie inched toward the door, and slowly pushed it to the jamb before stepping back.

"That was a close one." she whispered.

"You're telling me," Trick Deck exhaled, "So now what?"

"May…?  There's something on the wall."

Trick Deck frowned, though Magpie couldn't see it in the dark room, and put her hand to the wall.  Now that Mags had mentioned it, there was something covering the wall, something that broke and began over and over in odd places.  It felt glossy, almost like—  
"Photos?" she murmured.  Feeling around, her hands ran over more of them, until she found a light switch and flicked it on, bringing the room into a sudden, bright relief.  She blinked, clearing the light-spots from her eyes, and gasped.

The walls of the room were covered in pictures.

Pictures of Guenhivyre Pendragon.

"Oh, no.  Wraith." Magpie whispered.

" _Hell_!  This is sick!  What is this, some sort of a shrine?" Trick Deck said, coming to stand next to her friend, staring at the photos.  Some of them seemed to be of a younger Guen, but most were recent, and there were even some shots that looked like they were pulled from security cameras, showing her blue wings up close.

"A shrine?  No, not quite.  Merely a room where I keep my photos for study." the cold voice suddenly said behind them, making them jump in fright.

A man was standing in the doorway, his face carefully neutral, although his dark brown eyes stared at them icily from above a hooked nose.  Trick Deck found her voice first.

"What's the meaning of this?" she demanded, gesturing toward the walls.

"Actually, I should be asking you that.  Neither of you have any right to be in this room, let alone in this building.  I told Logann he shouldn't have let anyone follow him.  But does anyone ever listen to me?  Noooooo." he said with a sigh, lifting something from his side.  Trick Deck.  Logann's manila folder.  The man walked past them, flipping it open to reveal more photographs of Guenhivyre Pendragon.  A horrible thought dawned on her.

"Logann's been giving you these.  He didn't need us to find Guen after all; he needed her found for you."

"Bingo, sweetie." the man said, regarding her with an evil smile.  "The only way Pendragon gets the right information for the hounds at his labs is if he delivers his sister to me."

"What's your deal, Yankee?  What's your angle on Guen, anyway?" Magpie snapped, the two of them backing up, waiting for the right moment to bolt for the door.  But suddenly it shut again, this time with Logann Pendragon in the room, regarding them icily.

"My angle?" the man mused, and Logann pulled a syringe and a vial filled with a chartreuse liquid from inside his coat.

"Disappointing," he remarked, taking a step toward them, "to think that someone I hired would have me followed.  Twice as disappointing that I didn't notice it.  You're good, Trick Deck.  Sometimes a little too good."

"What's going on here, Pendragon?  Why are you giving this—this—creep anything about Guen?  Why didn't you tell us the truth?" she shouted, backing away from him, grabbing Magpie's arm.  To her surprise, Logann's glare melted and his face softened into a sad expression.

"It wasn't my choice, believe me." he said softly.

"It never was, Lance my friend." the other man spoke up, pulling another picture of Guen from the folder and nuzzling it before hanging it on the wall.

"My name is Logann!" he hissed back, pure rage turning his handsome face into a look even the Scarecrow would envy.

"Oh, please.  Spare me the melodrama, _Lancelot_.  You know that's your real name, there's no point in insisting you be called by another." the man rolled his dark eyes, like he constantly suffered from saying this.  Then he looked at them again.  "You asked me what designs—excuse me, angle—I have on Guenhivyre, girls.  Quite frankly, I should think you both know that ownership is nine-tenths of the law."

"What are you saying?" Trick Deck asked, dreading the response.

The man smiled again, stroking one of the photos.

"Guen is mine.  She's always been mine, right from the very beginning.  And she will be mine again once we're reunited." he answered.

"Sorry, but I don't think tall, dark, and obsessive is her type." Magpie snorted.

"And what, are you going to tell her about this nice little talk we're having?"

"That's right.  We look out for our friends." Mags said, glaring at him.

"Very sweet of you, but I'm afraid I can't allow that to happen.  You see, if you were to go and tell her, it would ruin our reunion.  Lance?" he said, turning calmly to Pendragon, who rushed forward and seized Magpie in a full-body-lock.  She screamed and kicked against him, calling both men several colorful names.

"Oh, please!  I have a name, but does anyone bother to use it?  Noooooo." the man said dramatically, throwing his arms up into the air.

"Oh yeah?  I'm beginning to think your name is MUD!" Trick Deck roared, snapping her leg up to kick his face in.  He caught it at last second, smiling evilly.

"It's Milo.  Professor Achilles Milo." he sneered.

"Milo?!" she gasped.  There was a moan behind her and the sound of a body hitting the floor.  "MAGPIE!"

"Sorry about this, sweetie." Pendragon said gently, seizing her from behind, and despite her struggling, his grip didn't budge.

"Time for your naps, ladies."  Milo said, baring all his teeth in a wicked grin, "Oh, and don't tell Guenhivyre.  It would spoil the surprise!"

Something broke May's skin, and she felt it slide into her neck, pumping fluid into her blood stream.  Her vision started to fade, and before she hit the ground, the last thing she saw was Milo pulling a silvery cloth from inside his coat pocket.

_Wraith's sash!_ she thought, her struggling slowing to a crawl.

Milo brought the piece of her sash up to his face, caressing it against his skin lovingly and inhaling with a deep, shuddering moan, closing his eyes as though in ecstasy.

"You'll understand you're mine when we're together again, Guen." he said softly, "You've always been mine, right from the beginning.  That's why I gave you your wings."


	15. Clio And Logann

May came to with a blistering headache pounding in her skull, and she managed to croak out an entire string of swear words in a sentence before she got her eyes open.

"Language, my dear! Language!" said a familiar, scolding voice. As her vision began to clear, she saw the beak-like nose and the monocle staring down at her, and a three-fingered flipper gently pressed a cool, damp cloth to her forehead. She sighed blissfully; she'd never imagined this even in her wildest dreams, Ozzy taking care of her this way! She wondered what she'd done to deserve this.

"What did you find out when you tailed Pendragon last night that caused this to happen, my bird?" Oswald asked gently, and she pursed her cracked lips, frowning. That was odd. She couldn't remember anything past Logann Pendragon pulling out of the parking lot at Dragon's Blood Inc. last night. He had taken some expensive, sporty car…and then, nothing. A feeling of dread settled in her stomach. Had she neglected to follow the Penguin's orders and tail Pendragon??

A groan from nearby brought her bolt upright again. Vanessa?! What was she doing here?!?

"Mags? Why are you here?" she coughed, sharp tendrils of pain shooting through her head again, and she saw a tiny, pink-haired figure lying in the armchair, a cloth pressed to her forehead as well, with the Riddler standing watch over her.

"M-May?? I—I don't know. I can't remember anything. I had made a run out last night, and I was stopping in at a gas station…and after that, nothing. It's not like it's a blank, there's just nothing." the English girl murmured gently.

"I found you both last night on the doorstep, unconscious. I telephoned Edward at once, and we have been trying to revive the two of you since." Oswald explained, and now that Trick Deck looked, she saw dark circles under her mentor's eyes.

"I…I don't…I don't remember, sir. Nothing. The last thing I can recall was Pendragon pulling out of his company's parking lot. I don't even think…" she swallowed, trying to fight back tears, "I don't think that I even tailed him last night."

"If that were the case, then why did we find the two of you together in the same spot?" the Riddler piped up for the first time, and May attempted to growl at him. The last thing she needed was that skinny man putting doubt in her mind. Although…

"That could have been coincidence, Edward," Oswald challenged, glaring at the taller man, "Mayhap Miss Cook found May last night, unconscious, and passed out herself trying to bring her here."

"That would make sense…" Vanessa murmured from the chair.

"But it would make more sense if the two of you met up last night, and then encountered something or someone who felt you needed to be silenced." the Riddler said sternly, crossing his arms and scowling, the effect magnified by his black lips.

"Nonsense! May is much more careful than that! You're imagining things, Nygma!" the Penguin huffed at him, and May felt butterflies taking flight in her stomach. He was standing up for her! That would show the Rogues Gallery who he really cared for!

"Really?" the Riddler snarled, eyes narrowing behind his domino mask, "Then how do you explain the five identical finger-shaped bruises on both girls' necks?"

***

_For once_ , Guenhivyre Pendragon mused, _I don't think I mind having Jervis and Erin around._

Jonathan had been furious with the events of yesterday, having apparently woken from the blow to his head with a "knot the size of a horseshoe crab,"—which she thought was slightly exaggerated—and Erin tending his wound while Jervis was putting on a kettle of tea—which she figured was more or less true. Either way, he had been shouting in a rage when Guen had gotten back, but had quieted almost as soon as she was in the room. Angrily, he demanded to know what had happened, and had remained quiet even after she explained the meeting with Logann Pendragon. Shortly afterward, they'd all gone to bed, Jervis and Erin taking a spare room for themselves, and Guen having to put a pair of earplugs to use, just in case these guests got a bit too enthusiastically loud.

She woke early this morning, and tiptoed down the hall to Jonathan's room, gently pushing the door open so it wouldn't creak and wake him.

"Does no one in this blessed lab ever have the decency to knock?" came a growl from inside and she jumped, heart pounding, and pushed the door the rest of the way open. Jonathan was sitting up in his cot, an ice pack still on his head, detracting from his indignantly righteous posture, and a book in his hand, illuminated by the little desk lamp nearby.

"S-sorry. I thought you were asleep. I was coming in to check on your head and I didn't want to wake you up." Guen murmured, gently pushing the door to. Jonathan frowned and rolled his eyes, but didn't dismiss her. She came over to his side, lifting the ice pack and gently feeling the goose egg underneath.

"It's stopped swelling, and I don't think it's gotten any bigger." she said brightly, smiling at him. He rolled his eyes again in response.

"Of course it hasn't, Guenhivyre," he scoffed, "The ice has kept the swelling down; any mother hen with half a brain knows even that."

She slammed the ice pack back down on the knot in anger, hoping he would pick up on the hint of how she felt about that statement.

"OOOOWWWWW!!! What in the name of science was that for?!" he howled.

"Oh, please! With a brain as big as yours, you should be able to figure it out, even if you've taken a blow to the head!" she snapped.

"Evil, twisted, sadistic female." he muttered darkly.

"Crybaby." she shot back.

For a moment, there was silence, and then Guen sat down at the end of the cot with a sigh, clasping her hands in her lap.

"What is it now?" Jonathan groaned.

"Dr. Crane…I'm…I'm not sure what to do. About this whole 'brother' issue of mine." she began, twiddling her thumbs anxiously.

"Oh, for pity's sake, Guenhivyre! You have a fraternal complex! The best course of action would be to just pick one and get it over with already!" he snapped, slapping a hand to his face, but she did her best to ignore this reaction.

"That doesn't help. I mean, it seems like Logann is the obvious answer, but he's so aloof. He acted like we were having a business meeting the whole time, and he wouldn't look me in the eye after he'd introduced himself. And Incubus—"

"Need I remind you that the man fights with a pimp cane?"

"He's hiding his identity," Guen pressed on, fighting down a snicker to keep her face straight, "So he doesn't want me to know who he is, but he's the one who's trying to act like a brother. Or at least, he seemed that way."

Jonathan watched her, an unreadable expression on his face.

"I—I just don't know what to do!" she cried, burying her face in her hands.

"Guenhivyre…" he started calmly, but a sudden shrieking sound cut him off. Guen sat bolt upright, her eyes going wide and she looked at him in alarm. He was staring at the door with an expression of pure horror.

"Oh, phobias, no!" he muttered, dropping his book.

Seconds later the door burst open and a blonde head shot right past Guen, and Jonathan Crane was slammed against the wall, the ice pack sent flying.

"JonJonJonJonJonJonJon!! Erin called me last night and told me what happened and—OH MY GOD, YOU'RE HURT!" a girl's voice shouted. Now that she was no longer attempting to be the first human cheetah, Guen could see the girl's face, and was shocked to realize one of her eyes was completely ebony, with black liquid running down her face. It looked like…ink?

"EVIL TWISTED SADISTIC—" Jonathan roared, and Erin Knightly poked her head in the door, adjusting her bathrobe.

"Oh, there you are! Jonathan, I called Ink last night and told her what happened. I thought you'd be happy to see her." she said cheerfully, and Jonathan made a strangled sound as he pulled his head away from the wall.

"WOMEN!!" he screamed.

Guen, for the most part, had been too stunned to move up until now, and she jumped.

"GET OUT GET OUT GET _OUT_!!!" he bellowed, grabbing another nearby book and throwing it. Guen shrieked and bolted from the room, pulling Erin and Ink behind her, ducking to avoid Jonathan's aim.

And now here they sat, all three of them, in awkward silence as Jervis attempted to tend to Jonathan's temper tantrum. Erin, as was her usual solution to everything, offered to make tea.

"I'll have coffee," Guen and Ink said together, and looked at each other in dumb shock when they realized they were speaking in tandem. Ink promptly started to giggle, and Guen found she couldn't help but join in, until the two of them were howling with laughter and falling out of their chairs. Erin smiled warmly, pleased to see two of her friends getting along so well.

"Aww, man. What a way to start the morning." Guen said once she finally got her laughter under control.

"You're telling me. Not every morning that I get a book chucked at my head. Name's Ink, by the way. What's yours?"

"Guenhivyre Pendragon, but I prefer Wraith." she answered, feeling that darkness inside her on the rise again, and she smiled.

"Wraith, huh? I like it. So what's your connection to Jonny? I already know Erin's." Ink asked, resting her chin in her palm.

"Oh, um. I was a student until I got swept into this mess. I was allowed to visit Arkham every Wednesday as part of my Criminal Psychology class, and the last time, Dr. Crane kind of kidnapped me when I was getting ready to leave." Guen said, staring at her feet. "And now…"

"And now you're one of us? That makes us family!" Ink remarked, and Guen blushed, feeling quite praised.

"So, w-what's _your_ connection to Dr. Crane?" she asked.

"Met him after Bats took me to Arkham. He's awesome, isn't he?" Ink replied, grinning.

"Which one?" Guen said, dumbfounded.

"Both." Ink answered without hesitation, and Guen found herself momentarily stunned. Both Batman and Jonathan Crane, awesome? Well, if she thought about it, it made sense, though she wasn't sure why Ink would still like Batman after he got her thrown into Arkham Asylum. Most of the inmates blamed him for everything that went wrong in their lives. Perhaps Ink was an exception? She certainly seemed so, her disposition as cheerful as it was.

_Don't go by that, Pendragon,_ said a warning voice in her head, _It's the quiet ones you've gotta watch out for. After all, we were one once, weren't we?_

Abruptly Jonathan Crane appeared in the doorway, a calm look on his face once more as Erin was setting out their beverages.

"My apologies. I've been in a temper this morning, and I don't know what came over me." he said briskly, taking one of the empty chairs at the table. "I'll have Earl Gray please, Erin, if you don't mind."

"You got that right. You're lucky I don't recite some manners to you." Ink said coldly at him, and Guen started, surprised by the sudden change in her demeanor.

_Told you so, Pendragon._ the other voice chuckled, amused.

"As I'm sure you'd do well." Jonathan said simply, but he smiled warmly at the blonde girl when she caught his eye. A surge of jealousy swelled in Guen, but it died quickly. Who was she to be angry with either Ink or Jonathan if they got along better than she did with him? After all, she'd practically insisted on making him take her on as an understudy; it shouldn't surprise her if he had more patience for Ink.

"Well, now that you're all here, I need to talk to you about something." Erin said out of the blue, and they all jumped, having forgotten she was there. She seated herself next to Guen, looking as though she was struggling to get words out of her mouth.

"I—I think that someone's stalking you, Guen." she said, stirring her tea with shaking hands.

"You mean other than Edward Nygma?" Jonathan growled, taking a sip of his tea, and Ink looked between him and the others, raising an eyebrow.

"Long story, I'll tell you later," Guen offered.

"Yeah, someone other than Eddy." Erin said softly, looking up at the three of them. "Jervis and I ran into him twice now. Once when saw the two of you on the TV, during the museum incident—"

"What museum incident?" Ink demanded, looking back at Jonathan and raising her other eyebrow, but he waved her into silence, leaving her sulking.

"And the other time was just the other night when we were in the park. He approached Jervis and asked him something about borrowing one of the mind control cards." Erin went on.

"And I trust Jervis was wise enough not to bargain with the fellow?" Jonathan said, taking another sip of tea.

"This is Jervis we're talking about." Ink threw in, though Guen couldn't quite figure out what she meant by that. Erin, on the other hand, grew bright red in the face and stared down at her hands.

"Erin?" Guen asked, touching her shoulder.

"Miss Knightly? Jervis didn't give this man any of the cards, _did_ he?" Jonathan asked pointedly, and Erin shook her head, tears welling up in her eyes.

"N-no. I-I did." she whispered, and Guen felt her insides go cold.

"Are you kidding me?" Ink croaked, staring at the redhead like she was some mass murderer.

"I—I thought he was th-threatening Jervis. I put one of the cards on him to try to make him go away, b-but he pulled it off l-like it was a regular card. Said it was just what he wanted, and that he's an o-old friend of yours, Guen. Said he's going to be r-reunited with you soon, and n-no one's going to s-s-s-stop him." Erin sobbed, finally breaking down and dissolving into tears.

"You didn't happen to get this creeper's _name_ , did you?" Ink asked, which made Erin only sob louder. "Okay, that's a no."

"My bogeyman." Guenhivyre murmured, staring off into space, heart pounding. So he wasn't just a dark figure from her past. He was still alive, still out there, still after her and—

Oh nuts. Nuts, nuts, nuts, nuts, NUTS!! The guy knew she was here in Gotham! Had seen her on the TV with the Scarecrow! Had connected her with him as well as with Erin Knightly and Jervis Tetch!

_Out of the frying pan and into the raging inferno, Pendragon._ said the voice.

"Excuse me, everyone. I need to go get some air." she murmured, fleeing from the cafeteria. As she left, she caught out of the corner of her eye Ink turning to Jonathan Crane, saying, "You've got some explaining to do, mister!"

She ran through the lab, heart pounding, fear clenching her mind. She didn't stop until she was outside, where she dropped down next to a sewer grate and hugged herself tightly, trying to stop the shaking.

"Oh, man. What am I going to do? What am I going to do?" she murmured, rocking back and forth. For a long time she sat there, simply rocking back and forth in a little ball, trying not to cry, asking the question over and over.

"What am I going to do?"

"Try another question for once?" came a growl, and she froze, sitting bolt upright.

"Wh-who said that?" she asked.

No answer.

"Wh-who's there?"

No answer.

"Wh-where are you?" she asked, a quaver in her voice.

"Down here." came the gruff reply, and tentatively, she slowly turned her head to look down at the sewer grate, stifling a scream. A pair of slit-pupiled yellow eyes was staring up at her intensely.

"Girl, you crazier than a nest o' cuckoos."

"Y-you? Bu-but! How did you find this place? Why are you here?" Guenhivyre asked, trying not to squeak. Killer Croc pushed the grate up, poking his green head out of the sewer drain.

"I know my way around the underground of Gotham, darhlin," he answered in a mesmerizing New Orleans accent, "And I'm here 'cause yah brotha asked me to come and find ya."

"Which brother?" was all she could think to answer with before one of his webbed hands shot out and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her down the grate. She yelped, thought she saw Jonathan Crane and Ink appear over the grate as Croc closed it, and then there was only stench and darkness.

***

Time passed differently in the sewers, as though Guen was trapped in a weird state of limbo: not quite vertigo, not quite a waking dream. She rode on Croc's back the entire time, like it was some kind of piggy-back ride in the dark on a scaly, living roller-coaster. He wouldn't talk much, and avoided answering her questions for the most part, and so she stopped attempting to have a conversation with him after a while. He didn't go very fast, but he wasn't slow either, as though he knew precisely where he was going and just when he needed to get there.

_And I'm betting he does,_ she mused to herself. She wasn't sure how much time was passing, just that she was getting hungrier and hungrier, and the blackness of the sewers was making her drowsy.

Finally, more light started to filter into the sewers here and there, and she guessed they had to be back inside one of the more crowded sections of Gotham City. Manhole covers were scattered every several feet apart, and sometimes they came across more grate-covered drains. By the dullness and limited amount of light, Guen guessed that it had be later afternoon, heading into evening.

"Wh-what am I going to do about this?" she murmured. "Not that I don't appreciate you doing me a favor taking me to my…uh, brother, but I need to let someone back at the lab know—"

"They know by now." Killer Croc answered simply.

"Huh?? They do??"

"Yeah. Yah brotha prob'ly called up there by now. He figured Scarecrow wouldn't take too nicely to me pickin' ya up."

"Brilliant." she muttered.

After a number of minutes more, they finally came to a stop and Croc climbed up a ladder, pushing off the manhole cover above them with ease. Still hanging on, he eased her off his back and boosted her up into an alley of Gotham. Despite the fact the sun was already starting to go down, Guen had to blink several times in order to adjust to the light, not noticing Croc coming up behind her.

"Right, forgot to warn ya. I got used to that." he remarked. "Got a watch on ya?"

"Y-yeah," she said, nodding and blinking down at it, "It's…four-forty-five."

"Ahh, right on time!" said a silky voice behind them, and Guen had to bite down on her revulsion. She turned, and found herself face to face with the grinning visage of Incubus, twirling his pimp cane in his hand.

"Hey, brah." Croc said casually, and to her surprise, the two of them bumped their fists together. That was weird; she'd always heard Croc hated humans.

"Thanks a ton, Waylon!" Incubus grinned at him, "I owe you one, dude!"

"Yeah? You just take care of yaself. Can't be too careful." he tilted his scaly head, eyeing the younger man skeptically. "Yah ate recently, right?"

"Of course!" Incubus said brightly.

"Good," Croc turned to Guen, and she jumped under his reptilian gaze, "Trust Incubus. I know he may seem a little sketchy, but he's got ya best interests at heart, chere."

"Umm…r-right." she stammered.

"Be seein' you around, brah." Croc said, turning back to Incubus.

"I hope so, as long as I'm not turning you in to the GPD."

Killer Croc only chuckled, though it came out as more of a growl, and he slipped back down into the sewers, as though he'd never been there to begin with. Guen waited until the cover was back on to turn to Incubus.

"A vigilante who names himself after a sex demon associates with wanted, reptilian criminals." she stated bluntly, eyeing him in suspicion, and Incubus merely looked at her.

"Croc and I are more alike than you may ever know," he answered softly. "We look out for each other, he and I. We're friends, and that goes beyond what side of the law we each represent."

At once she felt ashamed and abashed, like she'd just insulted her brother's best friend heartlessly. _For all I know, I probably am._

"Come with me, sis. There's someone you have to meet." he said, offering his hand to her.

_Wood flying everywhere. The chair in pieces. Her brother's hand, his concerned tone of voice. Someone she couldn't see, lying unconscious at her feet._

_"Come on, Guen. Let's get out of here! We have to run away tonight, before they catch us."_

"Who?" she demanded, not budging, wishing she could really look him in the eyes, without that stupid mask hiding his expression. He smiled warmly, dropping his hand, and walked around her, toward the front of the buildings that faced the road.

"Someone very special." he answered, still walking. Bristling, she ran after him, surprised that they were entering a small apartment building. Incubus walked right in, going up a staircase in a warmly painted yellow hallway, indicating for her to follow. Reluctantly, she tagged along behind him on the carpeted floor, looking left and right.

_Someone could see us walking, could recognize me and call the police._ she thought, then an even worse line of thinking occurred to her, _Anybody here could be_ him, _just watching me follow Incubus, waiting for his chance…_

"What's wrong?" Incubus asked, looking back at her over his shoulder, and she realized she'd stopped, shaking again.

"N-nothing," she whispered, "So you live here?"

"Sort of." he answered, taking her down a hall on the second floor, before stopping at a door with the number 313 on it. "Here we are." he inserted a key in the lock, turned it, and opened the door, stepping in cautiously. "Mom? Mom! I'm home!"

Guen had to resist the urge to grab hold of the nearest section of wall and slam her head against it.

_A wannabe vigilante brother candidate and he's living out in the open WITH HIS MOTHER!_

"I'm in the living room." came the call, and Guen stood still. The voice was sweet and beautiful, stirring old, old memories wrapped within a warm glow in her mind. No, there was no way. It couldn't be…

"Come on in." Incubus said, gesturing for her to enter. Hesitating, she stepped in, and desperately wished he hadn't closed the door behind her. The apartment was homely, and definitely had been decorated by a woman. She passed several pictures of a smiling, middle-aged man with a black beard and bright blue eyes. There were also pictures of a teenaged boy with dark hair and the same soft blue eyes. She walked into a living room to see a blonde head sitting in a chair with her back to them, copying down recipes from a cookbook onto note cards. Incubus stepped forward, clearing his throat.

"Uhm, Mom? There's…there's someone here you have to meet." he said, an emotion in his voice he couldn't identify. Guen's heart pounded. There was no way this was happening. He had to be pulling some kind of prank on her.

The woman turned around, looking up from her recipe cards, and blinked an identical set of those bright blue eyes in surprise.

_She has my nose! And my jaw! Even the shape of her eyes is just like mine!_

"Who--?" the woman started, but she stopped short, recognition flaring in her eyes as she looked at Guen, who could barely breathe. "Guen?" she whispered, standing up and walking around toward her, but stopping a few feet away as though she couldn't believe what she was seeing. "Guen? Guen, is that really you?"

She tried to open her mouth, tried to answer, but her breath caught in her throat and her eyes began to well up with tears. The woman gave a soft gasp, her own eyes spilling over with tears, and a tender expression came over Incubus's masked face as he came over and put a hand on each of their shoulders.

"Guenhivyre Pendragon," he said gently, "May I introduce to you our mother, Clio."

***

"And neither of you just happened to think you ought to bring this up before now?" Jonathan Crane snarled, irritated beyond words. The phone call from Incubus had set him off bad enough, and it was all he could do not to show violence in front of Ink. Lord knew the girl needed to find an excuse just to hit him up the backside of his head.

"I say, Jonathan, shove off!" Jervis snapped, putting himself between his friend and Erin, who had dissolved into tears again. "This isn't Erin's fault."

"Not entirely her fault you mean." he shot back in a dark mutter. Ink threw him a significant look, the ink running from her eye pumping a little faster than normal, and then she stared back at Jervis and Erin.

"Look, just don't go blaming yourself," she said firmly, hoping to catch Erin's attention, "Yes, you guys should've said something before, but it's going to be fine."

"H-how? What if something happens to Guen?" she sobbed.

"You mean other than Killer Croc snatching her from under our noses to go to a secret meeting with our sex-obsessed vigilante?" Jonathan remarked dryly.

"You really think he's sex-obsessed just 'cause he calls himself 'Incubus?'" Ink pondered.

"You even think about going to hunt him down—" Jonathan started.

"Can we get back to the subject at hand?" Jervis groaned.

"Fair enough," Jonathan said, "I assume the most logical thing to find out more about this man is to do something to attract his attention. Put Guenhivyre on display for him somehow in a way he won't be able to resist coming after her. If he IS stalking her, that is."

"You just want to use her as bait? Haven't you put her through enough already?" Ink demanded, glaring at him and he shot her a frown.

"W-well," Ulysses said, speaking up for the first time, "I-if he is after Miss Pendragon, then it only makes sense to draw him here and convince him that the security is nonexistent."

"Which is where your technological expertise comes into play, Ulysses." Jonathan said, giving the man an approving nod that made him flush with pride.

"So Twitch disguises the security system so our stalker-guy walks right into a trap?" Ink asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You can assist him if you wish." Jonathan added with a nod.

"But what in the name of Carroll do you propose to do to get this man's attention in the first place?" Jervis said, making the room fall silent. They all fell silent, until Ink's hand shot up.

"Oo! Ooh! Me, me, me!" she said, like an eager student. Jonathan Crane's mouth twitched upward in a rare smile.

"Yes, Ink?"

"What about a slumber party?"

His smile faded slightly. "I beg your pardon?"

"Tell Guen she can have a slumber party! She can invite me, and Erin, and whoever else she wants, and we'll throw a big party! Light up this place like fireworks and put out news about it!" she said, grinning mischievously.

"Preposterous!" Jervis snorted.

"Actually…" Jonathan said slowly, "Tweak some of the details a tad and it just might work." He turned and smiled at Ink again. "Have I ever told you you're brilliant?"

Ink's cheeks went pink with pleasure and she grinned again, pleased with herself.

***

After several tight hugs and enough tears to fill a sink, Guenhivyre found herself sitting next to Clio on the couch, being rocked back and forth in her arms.

"Oh, my baby girl," Clio sniffed over and over, "My baby girl's come back to me."

"M-m-momma." was all Guen could choke out, the word unused for so long it tasted strange in her mouth.

"Oh, sweetheart, I've missed you so much." Clio sobbed, holding her tightly.

To that, Guen couldn't say anything.

Finally Clio eased her grip a bit and pushed Guen back, studying her carefully from behind her watery eyes.

"And you? Are you…like your brother?" she asked.

"Not quite, Mom." Incubus said. "Guen, show them to her." 

It took her a moment to realize what he was talking about, and then, slowly, she unfurled her wings from behind her back. Clio gasped, a hand flying to her mouth.

"You have wings…" she whispered, and Guen nodded slowly, biting her lip. "Oh, my. How do you keep them hidden all the time?"

"U-usually I just wear a hoodie…" she murmured.

"And…and your bones…are they hollow?"

"I don't know. I can't even glide with my wings yet, let alone fly with them. They keep growing, though, so…I don't know."

To this, Clio only nodded, and reached out gently to stroke her wings. Her hands were soft and gentle, and for the first time, she smiled at Guen, a smile so beautiful and maternal it made her want to break down in sobs again.

"To think…when she was a toddler, I would tell everyone my baby girl was as beautiful as an angel, and now that I'm with her again, she has wings."

Guen nodded, then looked toward Incubus. "And you?"

"Nope, not telling. You don't want to see my mutation, trust me." he said, backing up, "And hopefully, you'll never have to."

She frowned at him, only to find Clio pulling her into a hug again.

"Oh!" she cried, "I have both of my babies back! Both of my babies!" Fresh tears rolled down her face, but she was smiling as though she was the happiest woman in the world.

"Say, Mom," Incubus said, walking over to the kitchen area and opening the fridge door, "How about you heat this up and we'll have a nice family dinner? Mmm, still tastes creamy."

"LOGANN MAXIMILLIAN ZEUS!" Clio roared at him, and his shoulders hunched uncomfortably, "YOU GET YOUR GREEDY FINGERS OUT OF THAT PASTA UNTIL YOU'VE WASHED UP OR SO HELP ME, YOUNG MAN!!"

Wait, his name was Logann, too?

"Wh-what did you say his name was?" Guen asked her mother, looking between her and the young vigilante.

"MO—OM!!" he whined, "You totally just broke the superhero secret identity code!"

"Your sister deserves to know anyway, I'm amazed you haven't told her before now!" Clio snapped, and Incubus came back over with a resigned sigh, pulling the mask from his face to reveal a pair of bright blue eyes.

"Oh, fine. My real name is Logann Zeus," he said to Guen, looking her in the eye, "Maxie Zeus is my father."


	16. The Slumber Party Goes Wrong

Dr. Kirk Langstrom was sitting on the deck just outside his bedroom, a rolled up copy of the Gotham Post clutched tightly in his hand. The headliner showed an account of the break-in at the Gotham Museum, complete with a picture of the perpetrators. One Langstrom knew as Dr. Jonathan Crane, known best as the Scarecrow, from times he'd seen the thin man on the news being apprehended by the Batman. The other was a girl, dressed mostly in black, whom Langstrom hadn't recognized…at first.

Something came down on his shoulder and he jumped, his head whipping around at the intruder.

"Jumpy much? I thought you'd be happy to see me." The young man said in a cocky tone.

"You could have been anyone!" Kirk exhaled, hand going to his heart, which was pounding like crazy.

"But I'm not."

"What kept you?"

"Supper with the family."

"Supper…?"

"All of the family."

"Ah…" Langstom said slowly, comprehension dawning, then he frowned. "What in the world are you wearing, Logann?"

"Please! Call me Incubus!"

"Rather odd choice of name for an up-and-coming vigilante."

"Why, I'm so glad you approve, sir!"

Kirk snorted, unrolling the newspaper, and he stared at the girl in the photo again. "So her wings grew after all."

"What, you thought they wouldn't? I think you listened to Dorian too much if you seriously believed that." Incubus scoffed.

"I still hold Emile Dorian in the highest respect, Logann. And frankly, I too, was concerned her wings would never show. Her mutation wasn't as dominant as yours…or Lance's." Kirk said slowly.

"So why'd you call me here?" Incubus shot back. "If you want to chat with anyone about Guen's wings, it should be Dorian. After all, he was the one who wanted her dead when her bestial side didn't immediately turn up results."

Kirk turned, looked at his young friend, a pang in his heart. The boy had grown so fast, and even now that he was a man, Kirk still feared for Logann as if the boy were his own son. As for his sister…A cold hand closed over Kirk's insides as he spoke again.

"It's not Dorian learning about her wings that has me concerned, Logann. It's _him_."

"What?" Logann croaked, his face paling, "But I thought he disappeared after the incident with Cadmus and Doomsday! People kept saying that Doomsday killed him!"

"Then obviously you're not keeping up with things as well as I hoped you would." Kirk sighed, rubbing his temples. "He returned to Gotham a month ago or so, and I fear that if he's been keeping up with the news…" Langstrom waved his newspaper, unable to finish his thought.

"Then he's seen Guen. He's seen her wings." Logann said hoarsely.

"And he's likely connected her with Dr. Crane, whom everyone knows is on the loose."

"HELL!! You think he's still after Guen? Even after all this time?"

Kirk looked at the young vigilante, wishing this was all just a bad nightmare.

"Logann," he said slowly, "You found him that night. Do you remember what you told me about it? You said he was babbling something about how she belonged to him, and him alone, and how he'd stop at nothing to keep her. You found him standing over Guen, her with bruises on her arms and tears in her eyes, him with a scalpel in his hand and a leer on his face. When you recounted the story to me, Logann, you were shuddering in revulsion, saying he kept stroking her and calling her his pet, his toy, his _beloved angel_."

Logann shivered, despite the fact there was little breeze this night, and rubbed his arms beneath his leather jacket.

"Ugh, you had to remind me. He kept saying that, over and over, and running his hands over her and licking her cheek like…" he trailed off, shivering again.

Kirk Langstom turned his most serious stare on the younger man, seizing his arm in a tight grip.

"Then Logann, wouldn't it stand to reason he'd go after her again?" he asked.

"If he does, he's going to have a hard time getting to her. She's making a lot of alliances with the criminal underworld, and I can still protect her!" the boy insisted.

"Logann," Langstrom said firmly, "She has wings now. She's finally the fetish pet he's always wanted, and more likely than not, he's seen she is. What in God's name makes you think she'll be safe from him?"

This time, they both shuddered.

***

Even as they were walking down the aisles of the store, Guen was still finding it hard to believe that they were planning for this spur-of-the-moment slumber party. She was having even more trouble believing that Jonathan Crane had agreed to hosting it at the lab.

_Then again_ , she thought, turning to look at Ink, who was bundled up in her daywear disguise, _Perhaps the good doctor of fear has a bit of a soft spot._

There was still that small twinge of jealousy when she thought of how Ink could work Jonathan in ways she couldn't, but it faded faster and faster each time. Try as she might, she couldn't be jealous of the girl; there was something about Ink that Guen found herself liking the more she spent time around her. Certainly her cheerful demeanor had something to do with it, but Guen wasn't sure that was the only reason she liked Ink. No, there was something else too…

"So, Pepsi or Coke?" Ink asked, brandishing two two-liters.

"Well, Coca-Cola has a higher caffiene content….but Pepsi has more sugar…" Guen murmured, trying to think aloud.

"Both, then!" Ink decided, tossing the two-liters into the cart. Guen winced; she didn't envy whoever had to open those later. She turned to Erin, who was coming up behind them, her eyes red and puffy.

"So, have we got everything?" she asked Erin, who immediately held up their party list with shaking hands.

"I—I think so…Ju-just looks like we've got to pick out a f-few movies…" her voice trailed off. Knowing the waterworks could start at any second, Guen reached out and gently touched Erin's shoulder.

"Hey, relax. It's going to be okay. It's not your fault I've got some psycho after me."

"B-but it _is_ my fault for putting you in danger, not telling you!" Erin insisted.

"Look, Erin!" Ink said in exasperation, throwing up her hands with the same motions as Jonathan Crane tended to do, though it certainly looked different, considering the scarf concealing her face, "You need to just let this go. It's not your fault, and you told us in plenty of time to do something about it, _end of story_. Now, we're going to have a slumber party tonight, and we're all going to have fun, got it?"

"Well, I suppose—"

"Jervis can be there." Guen blurted out in a desperate attempt, even as her mind rebelled against the words spilling from her mouth. "He could…um…act as our butler for the evening, or something."

_What the fudge bucket, Pendragon?! You're nuts! Jervis Tetch is out to kill you or God knows what else! Why the hell are you doing this?!?_ The voice in her head screamed. It had grown louder and more distinct since yesterday, and had a strangely husky quality to it.

Erin looked at her, her eyes lighting up, a smile brightening her features.

"Oh! Do you mean it, Guen?"

_HELL NO, PENDRAGON!! SAY NO! NO NO NO NO NO!!!_ the voice screamed.

"Of course I do." Her mouth said. Then, more to distract herself from arguing with the voice than anything, she turned to Ink, raising an eyebrow. "You got the invites sent out, right?"

Ink lowered her scarf a fraction, smiling slowly, and retrieved a copy of the invitation from her coat pocket. "Of course I did. Don't you have any faith in me?"

****

[Milo's POV]

 

Sometimes I wonder why in the world all the clearly insane people still attempt to fit in among the mundane by going out into public and doing something as simple as grocery shopping.

Grocery shopping, of all things!

But one shouldn't gripe. It definitely seemed silly, but despite it, following those girls was paying off. I peeked around the corner of the aisle and watched as they argued over soda. There she was. My prize. Accompanied by a young girl in perhaps one of the more lousy disguises I've ever see, and a teary-eyed redhead. I frowned, trying to place them, then remembered I'd seen the latter with Jervis Tetch twice. That's right, Miss Knightly. So she _was_ friends with Guenhivyre! So then, who was the other girl?

I watched as Knightly nearly dissolved into tears right then and there, obviously upset about something, though I couldn't hear what. The girl with the coat said something in a stern voice, a strand of blonde hair escaping her coat's hood as she threw her hands into the air. Odd. There was something about the way she did that that struck a chord in my memory. It was a familiar gesture, though I'd seen someone else do it. Strange that I couldn't place it; that would bug me for the better part of the afternoon.

Then Guenhivyre reached out, squeezed Knightly's shoulder, speaking to her in an undertone. The other girl said something again, Erin hesitated, and Guenhivyre jumped in once more. At once, the redhead's face brightened, and I had to hide a smile.

That was my Guenhivyre. Always so compassionate and sweet to the point of naiveté. Sooner or later, if she wasn't careful, it'd get her into trouble. It had before, after all.

Abruptly they started to move again, this time coming my direction down the aisle, and I ducked out of sight before they could pass me, catching them discussing something to do with movies. No doubt they were headed to the electronics section. I waited a couple of seconds, until they were a good distance away, and then slowly, I started after them, taking care to maintain a good amount of space between us. Erin Knightly was perfectly oblivious to the world, but I couldn't risk the other two picking up on my prescence; yet, I also couldn't afford to let them out of my sight. This opportunity was too rich to pass up, but I had to time it just right, or it would go to Hell.

Yes, the electronics it was. The area was small, with a glass-wall enclosure to separate it from the rest of the story, thereby keeping us all in the same container where I could thankfully roam about, pretending to browse, and not lose sight of them the entire time. I sauntered over toward the music, slowing my pace so it looked like I was trying to pick something, though I felt a strange urge to just toss the CDs to the ground in frustration. So close! I was so close, and I could do nothing!

I watched Guenhivyre hold up a DVD case, arguing with the disguised girl about something, and I suppressed a growl building in my chest. So close…I could almost smell her hair…could reach out and play with those long black strands if I just closed the few feet of distance between us…I wanted to entangle my fingers in her hair, wanted to stroke her cheek and turn her face toward me, wanted put a tag on that collar of hers so the world would know just who she belonged to, wanted to _wrap my fingers around her beautiful white neck and squeeze until she couldn't draw in air for another scream._

Yes, that would be a fitting punishment for the way she's spurned me. I hated the thought of seeing her hurt, but I couldn't let this go unpunished. After all, I gave the little angel her wings, and she fawns after Jonathan Crane!

Wait a moment.

Crane throws his hands up in the air melodramatically when he's frustrated…

Which could only mean that blonde girl is the one they call Ink.

I hissed in frustration, cracking one of the jewel cases in my hand. I hadn't counted on her showing up, and I had heard the stories of how unpredictable she could be. Still, with a great effort, I managed to calm myself down. I'd just have to take a few extra precautions, that was all.

"Hey, buddy," a voice growled next to me, "You break it, you buy it."

I barely caught the girls leaving from the corner of my eye as I turned to face the attendant. Stupid moron, I would lose sight of them. Still…  
"Of course." I answered gently, smiling even as I drew the syringe from my coat and drove its needle deep into his neck. A simple depress of the plunger, and he was out like a light.

I didn't envy him the waking nightmares he would experience when he came to.

Growling my frustration for the world to hear, I dropped the case and ran, looking for the girls. There they were, just leaving the check-out. Why did the damn employees here have to be so fast and good at their jobs?

I ducked and weaved my way through the crowd, until I made it out through the doors to the parking lot, where I nearly tore at my hair. It was nearly impossible to find them!

And then I saw Erin Knightly's distinctive red hair, heard Guenhivyre's sweet voice, followed by the slamming of a car door. Moments later, a car swept by me, and I laughed at the sight of it. A T-bird, of all the irony!

"Well now…" I chuckled to myself, preparing for the chase, "I think you're making this just a tad too easy on me, my dear one."

***

Jonathan Crane was beginning to regret ever agreeing to the idea, but he had to admit, it was a rather brilliant plan Ink had come up with. Still, the idea of acting as a butler…

"Oh, pish tosh, Jonathan!" Jervis said abruptly, clapping a hand down on his shoulder, making him jump. "Don't look so gloomy! It'll be a lovely tea party! You really should be dressed as the March Hare, you know. It would suit you so well."

"You're only in a good mood because you've been asked to be the waiter."

"You could always have more, couldn't you?" Jervis said by way of answer, handing his friend a saucer and cup of tea.

"No." Jonathan replied coolly. "Look, are you going to take this seriously or what?"

"I thought that was Mr. Cutter's job."

"Ulysses is in charge of the security system. It's his job to keep an eye on things, see if this is all just paranoia coming to fruition or if there really is a threat."

"They're late."

"Who, the girls?" Jonathan snorted, taking the seat by the door. "I would expect so. Women seem to enjoy that "fashionably late" stereotype of theirs."

At that moment, the door burst open, smashing into Jonathan Crane and Jervis Tetch as Banshee crossed the threshold, letting loose a triumphant wailing cry.

"LET'S GET THIS PARTY STARTED, SISTERS! BANSHEE IS IN DAH HOOOOOUUUUUUSSSSSE!" she screamed, Magpie coming behind her and snickering. Trick Deck came in as well, and peeked behind the door.

"What in the world are you two doing?" she asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

"Oh, just taking up some space and apparently acting AS A DOORSTOP!" Jonathan roared, clutching at his bruised nose.

"We're all mad here…." Jervis groaned, shaking the stars from his vision.

"Banshee?! I thought that was you!" Guenhivyre said, coming into the room and rushing to hug the mocha-skinned girl.

"You bet! And look who I ran into!" she exclaimed, gesturing toward Trick Deck and Magpie, who also came to join in the group hug.

"Where's Stitches?" Guen asked, raising a curious eyebrow.

"Boss has her out doing something for him. Not sure I wanna know what." Banshee answered with a shrug. "Who's this?" she added, looking behind Guen.

"Oh! This is Erin Knightly and Ink! Erin, Ink, these are Banshee, Magpie, and—"

"Trick Deck," Ink finished, "Yeah, we've met."

"Nice to see you again, May." Erin said cheerfully, going to hug her.

"Seems you know a lot of people." Guen remarked, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, trust me," Trick Deck answered with a mysterious smile, "You'd be surprised."

"Well, are we going to get this party started or what?" Ink asked, brandishing a two-liter.

"Depends on where the serving crew is," Erin said, "Boys?"

"Right here," Jonathan and Jervis groaned together, still nursing their door-inflicted wounds.

"Good. We're going to need those pizzas ordered, pronto!" Guen said, snapping her fingers several times for emphasis.

"Whoever said anything about—" Jonathan started, but Erin interrupted him.

"And Jervis dear? Would you be willing to start on serving the first round of refreshments?" she asked, batting her eyelashes at him.

"At once, Your Highness!" He said, bowing and doffing his top hat.

"Hey, I could do that…" Trick Deck protested, as the rest of the girls dragged her with them.

"Nope, not tonight you aren't," Ink said firmly, "It's Ladies' Night."

"And the feeling's right!" Banshee sang.

"Oh yes, it's Ladies' Night!" Magpie threw in.

"Oh, what a night!" Guen finished.

"OH, WHAT A NIGHT!" They all fell into a contagious fit of giggles.

And thus the party was underway.

***

"Right, so are we starting Truth or Dare?" Guen asked, downing her fourth slice of pizza.

"Ugh, that's such a kid's game." Trick Deck groaned as she shuffled her card deck, promptly getting a pillow to the face from Banshee.

"HELLO! It's a slumber party must! It's like, a tradition or something!" she said, tossing another pillow at Magpie, who ducked and threw one back at her.

"Banshee's right!" Ink exclaimed, kicking her feet in the air as she hung off the end of a sofa. "We HAVE to play it. So who's starting?"

"I'll do it!" Magpie said, scooting forward a bit to snatch up another piece of pizza. "Right, so May. Truth or Dare?"

"Truth, I suppose." Trick Deck answered, stopping in mid-shuffle.

"Have you told Ozzy yet?" Magpie waggled her eyebrows.

"Hey, th-that's personal!" she protested.

"It's Truth or Dare, love," Magpie shot back, "You've got to tell us the truth or take on a dare."

"…No, I haven't." Trick Deck sighed, resuming her shuffling in a bit of a moodier manner.

"Oh, come on, girl!" Banshee said in exasperation, "Ya snooze, ya lose!"

"Yeah, May!" Ink threw in, "You've got to tell him sometime!"

"Oh, like you've told Jonathan or how you've told Joker?" Trick Deck shot at them, and they immediately quieted.

"Er, um…right then," Guen said, hoping to diffuse the awkward moment. "Erin, Truth or Dare?"

"Dare." Erin said cheerfully. "I'm willing to take a risk."

"Oh, um…shoot, I was hoping you'd pick truth." Guen said, going pink in the face, "Er…um…how about you go sabotage those nachos the guys are trying to make?"

_What, that's it? That's lame, Pendragon._ Her voice snorted.

"Okay!" Erin said, smiling a little too happily as she got up and flounced out of the room.  
"I'll go help her!" Ink said suddenly, jumping up.

"Why do I get the feeling," Trick Deck said slowly once the two had left, "That Erin will end up helping Jervis "make tea" while Ink finds Jonathan and—"

"EEEEWWW!" Banshee pulled a face. "Don't even finish that sentence!"

"Right, anyway," Trick Deck said, inhaling deeply and turning to Banshee, "Truth or Dare?"

"Truth." She answered without hesitation.

"I heard you met Incubus the other night. Does he really fight with a pimp cane?"

"Wait, you met him?!" Guen squawked, looking at her in surprise.

"Mm-hmm," Banshee answered, grinning, "And yes, he does. He's got a whip made from a chain, too."

"Ugh, what a pervert." Trick Deck muttered, wincing.

"You mean, what a sexy beast." Banshee giggled.

"Oh, I've heard he's a fittie!" Magpie threw in, her eyes lighting up.

"Ugh….I can't believe I'm hearing this…" Guen buried her face behind a pillow.

"Oh, he IS, hon! I wouldn't mind tapping that!" Banshee chuckled lewdly.

"OH, GROSS, YOU GUYS!" Guen screamed into her pillow.

"Not as gross as what the Wonderland-addled couple might end up doing…" Magpie muttered.

"I give Erin and Ink twenty minutes, and if they're not back by then, we're going to have to go retrieve them." Trick Deck said firmly, and the others voiced their agreement.

"Soooo, Mags. Truth or Dare?" Banshee said, turning to the pink-haired English girl.

"Truth, I guess." She said with a shrug.

"Who do _you_ have the hots for?"

Magpie squeaked and whispered something just low enough they didn't catch it.

"What was that?"

"E-Edward…" she repeated, going bright red before ducking behind her own pillow.

"Y-you like Eddy?" Guen asked, looking up and receiving a tiny nod in response. Something about that struck her, and she felt a strange wave of guilt building in her chest. Did Edward Nygma even know…? And why did she feel…?

"Er, I'm going to go check on the girls." Guen said abruptly, standing.

"But it's barely been two minutes since I said—"

"I know." Guen answered dismissively, sweeping from the room before she could be interrogated further. She strolled down the halls, not really caring whether or not she found her friends, too awash in a strange guilt to do much else.

_Mags likes Eddy?! B-but…I think…that I…also…like…Eddy. So why do I feel so bad? And Ink likes Dr. Crane, but why don't I feel so bad about that anymore? I'm so confused._

_You're not the only one, Pendragon._ The other voice remarked.

_Oh, man. Why do you keep talking to me? You're not helping, you know. Argh, what am I going to do?_ She idly swung a punch at the wall, wincing when she drew her hand back. Barely aware of what she was doing, she headed to the kitchen, ready to pour herself another glass of Coca-Cola, when she walked in on Erin and Jervis.

"Whoa! Um…"

"Do you mind, Miss Pendragon?" Jervis asked coldly, detatching his face from Erin's, who giggled.

"Ugh. Never mind." She groaned in revulsion, turning right back around and walking out, trying to rid herself of that image before it was burned on her retinas. But she didn't return to the room. Rather, she walked around a bit more, and found herself out in the large chamber where Dr. Crane kept most of the containers of fear toxin stored. Sighing, she dropped down on the end of a table, her wings ruffling twice to show her distress.

"What in the world am I going to do? I don't even know what I feel about who I'm around when it comes to guys. But I don't want to hurt any of my friends, either. Damn it…"

Somewhere she heard voices, followed by uproarious laughter, and she offered herself a small smile. _If you'd asked me about a month ago if I'd ever thought I'd end up becoming a criminal and facing prison or Arkham, I would've thought you were crazy, but now…Well, now, I think I prefer this. I'm happier…kind of…and I have way more friends._

She shivered, opening her wings, folding them against her back again.

_If only I had answers._

Sighing, she shivered again, hugging her arms. "Damn, does he always have to keep it so cold in here?"

A pair of warm hands suddenly came down on her shoulders and she sighed.

"Oh, thanks. That's better." She said, then froze. These hands…too thin to be Jervis, too thick to be Jonathan's or one of the girls…

"T-Twitch?" she whimpered, hoping against hope, even though she already knew it wasn't him. These hands were too steady.

"Hello, Guenhivyre my angel." A thin, delighted voice hissed in her ear. "It's been a long time. I've missed you so!"

She began to tremble, tears pouring down the sides of her cheeks. She tried to say something, tried to shout for help, but her throat had gone dry.

"Do me a favor, my sweet?" the voice asked, and those hands moved up, closing around her throat, and she sucked in a breath as they began to squeeze.

"Scream for me."


	17. Monsters In The Dark

The armor was heavy, old, and patterned with intricate knots, but necessary.  The helm completed the image, giving his head the formidable appearance of his namesake.  But he barely stopped to admire himself in the mirror.  The sword was his main concern.  Opening the glass case, he delicately lifted it from its stand, gingerly tying the scabbard to a leather loop in the armor just above his left hip.  The scabbard was new, just commissioned less than twenty years ago.  But the sword…

Slowly he drew it from the scabbard, the beautiful green Celtic knot pattern on the blade spiraling down to the hilt, where it ended in a hoop around the writing.  He stroked the characters lovingly as the blade sang to him in a voice that hadn't been heard in centuries.  He could not read the language they were from, but he knew well enough what they said, for the sword's name was well enough known to all.

"Sir?" a voice asked, opening the door to the room, light spilling onto the carpeted floor.

"Yes, what is it?" he asked calmly, still entranced by the blade.

"Mr. Pendragon, sir…are you…are you going out again tonight?"

"Considering the way I have prepared myself, Miss Tanner, what would you say?"

"But Mr. Pendragon!  The sword—"

"Is not of your concern." he answered coolly, turning his fierce green gaze on the young secretary.

"Bu-but…if your father returns, what should I tell—"

"If my 'father' should harp on you about the sword and the armor, tell him I gave you the instruction not to speak of this and that I told you he needs to call me."

"But Lance—"

"My name is Logann." he growled in icy tones.

"L-Logann, then…"

"I don't care what the others may think.  The son of Maximillian Zeus stole my name." he murmured.

"Sir," the girl said at last, exasperated, "Do be careful, won't you?"

"I am always careful."

"What if they have a trap set up for you?" she whispered, near tears.

"I always think everything could be a trap, Miss Tanner." he said smoothly turning away, "That is why I'm still alive."

"…..Of course, Mr. Pendragon, sir."

And she left, gently shutting the door behind her.  He breathed out a sigh of relief.  He appreciated that the staff worried about him, but they came too close sometimes to poking their noses into business they shouldn't.  He held the sword out again, holding the blade so the sword's name was eye level with him, and he smiled.

"So long and yet after all this time, you're still so beautiful.  Whatever they did to you when you were forged has last long enough that you're still in impeccable shape, even now that over a thousand years has passed.  All that time, and not a scratch on you.  You barely have to be polished as is."

He admired the sword a moment more before sheathing it again.

Tonight, he would succeed where he had previously failed.  After all, the legend said that the spirit of King Arthur still rode within his legendary blade, and would offer his aid to his descendants when they had need of it.

"Time to see if the old family tales still ring true." he murmured, "Tonight, Excalibur, you will taste blood once more."

***

"OW!  I'm just trying to tell you that—OW!"  Incubus doubled over, wincing.  "Hey, stop hitting me with my own cane, you're embarrassing me!"

"Oh yeah?  Well, I've got news for you, buddy!"  the girl growled, striking him in the back of his leg.  "I am NOT going anywhere with _anyone_ who openly admits he's a pervert!"

"OW!  Knock it off, you'll break the tech!"  he whined, dropping to the ground and curling into a ball to avoid being hit again.

"What tech?!  What's your deal?!  Why the hell do you keep following me?!" she snapped, bringing the end of the cane swinging down onto his hip.

"HEY!!  I said knock it off!"

"YOU knock it off, pervert!" she said, her blonde braid swinging as she took a step back.  "You want me to tazer you again?"

"No—OWW!  Look, would you just listen to me for a second?!"

"NO!" she shouted, reaching to her hip.

"Look, Miss Davis!  I'm here to pick you up for Killer Croc!"

She froze.  "You're what?"

"Croc asked me to come find you," Incubus said, peering out from under the safety of his arms, "I owe him a big favor, and he asked me to pick you up for him."

"Let me guess, you're from Cannibals R Us." she chuckled nervously, dropping the cane.

"No, just hear me out!" he said, getting to his knees.  "Croc only wants to talk to you, that's all.  He swears he's not going to hurt you, and he wouldn't lie to me.  I promise, I won't let you get hurt.  He just wants to talk."

"Gee, tell me why I'm having a hard time believing you!"  she snapped, whipping out her tazer again, and he dove to the side, rolling away from her.  One of his pockets started ringing, and he held up a hand to stall her as he whipped his cell phone out.

"Yeah?"

"How's it goin', brah?"

"CROC!" he roared into the phone, "YOU DIDN'T TELL ME SHE HAD A MOTHERFUGGING TAZER!"

"….Told ya it wouldn't be easy."

"A TAZER!"

"Well, Adrian had a great high kick when I met her.  But she only ever carried a can a' mace in her purse then."

"Well, apparently she's bought a MOTHERFUGGING TAZER SINCE THEN!"

"You still owe me a favor, city boy.  I hope you ain't lookin' to go chicken on me.  I might have to serve ya up…cajun style."

"A MOTHERFUGGING TAZER!"

"Ain't she something?" the voice took on a dreamy state.

"Yeah, and it starts with a "crazy", has a "b", and ends in an "itch."  You're nuts, Waylon!"

"Excuse me," Adrian said, crossing her arms, and standing over him, tazer still in hand, "But I'd really rather not use this today…"

"Ugh, I've gotta go, dude."

"Well, maybe you can bring her tomorrow, then."

"Oh sure.  After I get a _shock-absorbant suit_!"

"You do that, Logann."  And with that, he hung up.

"Well, I've got good news and I've got bad news, Miss Davis," he said in a quavering voice, "The good news for you is that it looks like you won't be having that chat with Croc today after all."

Adrian glared at him, and then slowly, ever so slowly, she lowered her tazer back to its holster.  "Glad to know you're finally going to listen to reason.  So what's the bad news?"

"The bad—" Incubus was cut off by his cell phone again, and he rolled his eyes and held up a finger for silence.  "Yeah?"

Adrian watched as he spoke over the phone with a man whose voice she couldn't quite hear, his face going pale.

"Are you serious? …..What are they, nuts?  No, don't answer that.  Geez, why don't they just put up a big ass flashing neon sign that says, "SHE IS HERE?!" Good lord…No, no, don't worry about it.  No, I'll head that way to keep an eye on things.  God knows someone has to—No, don't.  Call him, and I'll never speak to you again.  No, I'm serious this time, Langstrom.  You call him and I'm never speaking to you again….What?  Oh, come on, dude!  That's not fair!  No, I'm not whining, but YOU haven't just been TAZERED four times in the past hour and a half…..Stop laughing!  Ugh, okay, bye."

"What was that about?" Adrian asked, taking a wary step back as Incubus got to his feet.

"I've got some family problems going down.  Looks like something big is going to go down tonight, and I've got to go keep an eye on my little sister.  Otherwise, she could end up…" he trailed off, staring at nothing, and then abruptly surged toward the door.

"Well…good for you then.  But I swear, you ever come near me again, next time it's going to be the tazer AND the mace!" Adrian called after him, and he paused.

"Croc still wants to talk to you, you know.  It'd be easier if you would just come and listen to what he has to say." he said, looking over his shoulder.

"What, and lose my head when he takes the first bite?  No, thanks!"

"I'm serious, Miss Davis.  I think you'd be surprised."

And he left before she could speak again.

***

Ink was watching Jonathan pace back and forth, running his hands through his hair in frustration, and wondering how to go about this.

"It's infuriating to think that this is meant to be a way to catch a threat, and everyone's treating it like a party." he muttered.

"Technically it _is_ both, you know." Ink pointed out.

"That's not the point, my dear." Jonathan sighed as he slowed to a stop in front of her.  "No doubt Miss Knightly and Tetch are getting ready to repopulate Lewis Carroll's fantasy world, while you're here listening to me rant, and the other young ladies are probably preparing to burn my precious laboratory to the ground."

"I don't think they'd do that."

"You say that, but you've known May Markowitz and Vanessa Cook how long?"  he said simply, and when she went silent, he added, "My point is made.  Clearly, the only one here besides myself who is taking this seriously is Ulysses."

"I like Twitch," Ink said suddenly, "He's nice."

Jonathan smiled and sat down next to her.  "Yes, he is.  There are very few people as genuine as Mr. Cutter left in this world.  Perhaps I ought to give him a pay raise."

"Well, _duh_!  Poor guy puts up with enough crap as it is.  Why not give him a pay raise?"

He laughed.  "All right, all right!  I'll see what I can do." He stood suddenly, and offered her his hand.  "Would you like to come with me, and give him the good news?"

Blushing, she nodded, taking his thin, delicate hand, and they walked from the room down the hall.  She wondered as they walked, thinking about how she'd come to one day, to find that Jervis had planted one of his mind control cards on her and apparently had her kiss Jonathan.  She couldn't remember what it had felt like, and she desperately wished she could.  Maybe he would let her again, just so she could see…?

"Mr. Cutter?" Jonathan called, knocking on the door to the security camera room.  "Ulysses, it's me.  Ink and I have something to tell you."

But the door didn't open.

"Twitch?" Ink asked in a singsong voice, hoping he'd answer.

"Ulysses?"

But there was only silence.  Ink looked up at Jonathan Crane in alarm.

"Could he be having a seizure?"

Jonathan was glaring at the door.  "We'd still hear."  He threw the door open and they found the room was pitch black.  The screens were off…

"Why…?" Ink murmured, flicking on the lights, then immediately wishing she hadn't.

"Mr. Cutter!" Jonathan gasped.  The shaky man was sprawled on the floor, a pool of blood drying near his head, matting his dark hair.

"Twitch!" Ink cried, dropping down next to the prone form, trying to find a pulse.  Jonathan rushed to the screens, his fingers flying over the control panel, but they were still black.

"How could this have happened?!  He would have alerted me!  Ink, is he--?"

"No, no!  He's got a pulse." she breathed a sigh of relief, then said in a shaky voice, "J-Jonathan…"

He looked back at her as she gently turned Twitch over, revealing a syringe protruding from his neck, the plunger fully depressed.  Jonathan Crane hissed in anger and crouched down near them, gently pulling the needle from his employee, who groaned.

"Ulysses, I'm so sorry." he murmured.

A loud, ear-piercing scream echoed throughout Crane Chemical Labs, and they went rigid as the voice screamed on and on.

"Guennie!" Ink cried.

"Seems we have an obsessed stalker visiting after all." Jonathan growled in the Scarecrow's rasping voice.  Ink snarled, and her ink began to pour from her right eye, started crawling up her arms, and coiled and writhed as she began to change into her bestial form, running from the room.

***

"Yes, good." the voice purred in her ear, its owner nuzzling her hair.  Guen gasped for air, barely taking any in, spots appearing in her vision.  "I hate to have to do this to you, my dear, but bad girls must be punished."

Her bogeyman!  He'd found her!

What the hell did he want?!

_This isn't a time to be weak Pendragon!_ She heard the rough voice in her mind yell, _Give me the reins!_

Her vision went darker, and she suddenly felt weightless.  She had the oddest sensation, like she was just a prisoner in her body, watching someone else control it…

Her wings snapped open as she gasped for air again, and the pressure let up a bit.

"Magnificent!" the man purred.  "I never expected them to show and yet, they're almost two feet in their span.  I don't suppose you'd be willing to tell me when they first surfaced?"

"Man," her voice came out in an angry growl, and she wrenched the hands from her throat, "You are _really_ starting to _PISS ME OFF!_ " Strength surged through her arms, and she flung someone away from her, sending a body crashing against one of the canisters as she jumped onto the table in a crouch.

"Who the hell are you?" she snarled.

The figure, barely visible in the dark, paused as it got to its feet.  "You mean you don't know?  Don't you remember?"

"HA!  You're expecting a girl traumatized at a young age to remember anything before she was put in foster care?  Don't make me laugh, moron."

"Interesting.  This behavior isn't at all like you, Guenhivyre." The man murmured, standing up to his full height and brushing himself off.

"Guen's out of her mind right now," she answered, the corner of her mouth turning up in a grin.  "But I'm here.  Wanna leave a message?" She tensed, ready to spring, balling her hands into fists.

"Fascinating!  So your predator instinct didn't leave you after all…You just suppressed it!  Tell me, what do you call yourself?" he asked, starting toward her.

"I call it my boot to your face!" another voice shouted, and there were two figures, one of them crashing down on the first.

"Incubus?" she asked, stunned.

"The one and only, sister dear!" the vigilante said, holding out his hand for a high-five.

"YOU!" the man snarled, backing away.  She had the distinct impression he was nursing a bruised face.

"Me!" Incubus said, twirling his cane.  Suddenly there were shouts and crashing sounds, and the door at the far end of the lab burst open.  "Oh," Incubus remarked casually, "And there's also the Mad Hatter and the Scarecrow and—isn't this just your luck?!—an entire slumber party's worth of evil babes ready to bust your head in!"

"Oh, I should feel so lucky!" the man hissed, completely swallowed up by the blackness.

"I'm calling first dibs." She growled, "I wanna punch his nose in."

"GUEN!!" she heard several voices shout.

"Ahh, the welcoming committee arrives!  Pity I won't be here to receive the warm greetings!" came the snarl, and smoke began to fill the lab, choking her as well as he had.

"DAMN IT!  COME BACK HERE AND FIGHT, BASTARD!" she managed to cough out.  A hand fell on her shoulder and she spun around, ready to lash out, but it was only Magpie.

"Tragic, really, that every laboratory has such high ceilings!" The man's voice echoed all around them, as they filed into the room, forming a tight ring.  "The acoustics do such an excellent job, so I must be rather difficult to pinpoint!"

"He's taunting us." Jonathan muttered nearby as the smoke began to clear.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious, for pointing that out!" Incubus snapped, pulling out his chain-whip, ready to strike.  A strange, black beast hurtled past him and began pacing around the room, leaving dark trails in its wake.

"Before I go, my pet," the voice called out again, "Why don't you tell me what it is you call yourself?"

Snarling, she whipped out her hilt, the scythe snapping open with a shing.  "It's WRAITH, you creep!  And don't forget it!  You flirt with a spirit, ya join us!"

"Cute, putting your own twist on the bull-and-horns phrase." The voice chuckled.

"I wanna twist your neck, freak.  You ever come near me or my friends again…"

"And you'll be thanking me." The voice crooned.  "But I really must be going.   _Sweet dreams, Guenhivyre Nimué Pendragon._ "

The girls tensed, and the beast that was Ink let out a low growl, pacing rapidly around them.  For several long moments, there was silence, and then the lights flicked on.

"Oh, nicely done, Jervis!" Jonathan Crane snarled.  "Did it never occur to you to do that _before_ the man made his getaway?"

The Englishman looked rather hurt, but ignored him after a moment, and went to put his arms around Erin Knightly.  Wraith turned her attention to the black beast, temporarily stunned.

"Ink?" she asked, lowering the scythe until it collapsed itself.  The Ink-beast turned and looked at her, trotting over and nodding its head in a slow way as it began its gradual transformation back into a young woman, the black substance uncurling from her, retreating back down her arms and into her eyes.

"Damn it, he got away again…" Incubus was muttering, wrapping his chain-whip over his fist in agitation.  This drew attention back on him again, and several eyes widened.  Magpie reached over and grabbed Wraith's arm.

"That's him, right?  Introduce me!" she hissed.

"Introduce _us_!" Banshee threw in, grabbing her other arm.

"Oh, please!" Trick Deck groaned, burying her face in her hands.  Incubus promptly whipped around, staring at them all intently before turning to Wraith.

"Are you okay?"

"You askin' me or Pendragon?" Wraith muttered, rubbing her neck.  She could still feel those long fingers there…

"Both." He answered without hesitation.

"I guess so."

"Guenhivyre," Jonathan Crane spoke up suddenly, a dark look on his face, "Weren't you wearing your collar earlier?"

"It's Wraith," she snapped, "And yeah, why--?"

She felt her bare neck again and her blood ran cold.

"Shit!" she hissed, "The creep nabbed my collar!"

"Awww, great!" Incubus growled, pulling the chain taught on his hand.  "I don't even wanna know what the hell he's going to do with that.  Sick mo-fo…"

"Incubus…" Wraith said carefully, staring him down, "Who was that?"

"Trust me, you don't wanna know."

"Incubus, who was it?  Give me an answer!  I'm tired of being kept in the dark all the time!  That sicko just tried to strangle me!" she snapped.

"Look, it's probably better if I don't tell you right now," He answered, putting a hand on her shoulder, "There's a possibility you could go through a mental breakdown if I tried to reveal all of your past to you.  And even if you don't, it's still not good for you to just hear it right now.  Not right after he's attacked here."

"Who is he, Incubus?" she demanded, her wings puffing up. "I'm not as much of a sugarplum as Guen, I can handle this.  Come on, I already know from all her fragmented memories there are at least three possibilities who it could be.  One's some guy called Emile Dorian—"

"He's locked up in Gotham State Pen."

"—another called Kirk Langstom—"

"The Man-Bat?" Ink said, back in human form again, looking puzzled.

"Langstrom's gone clean, sis!  He'd never attack you!" Incubus shouted.

"And I can't remember the last one, but if I believe you, then he's the one who's after me." She finished.

Incubus remained silent for a moment, like he was struggling with his answer, then went rigid.  Color drained from his face and he clutched his side with a groan.

"Incubus?" the girls asked in unison, all of them rushing forward.

"Figures…" Jonathan Crane snorted.

"Langstom!" Incubus croaked.  "He's in trouble!"

"How do you know?  Why would you even care?" Wraith asked, narrowing her eyes.

"He sent _him_ after Langstrom!  He knew I'd be here so I couldn't get there when Kirk needed me!  SHIT!" Incubus fumbled and ran, snatching up his cane as he staggered toward the door.

"Incubus!" Wraith shouted, running after him.

"LANGSTROM!" he roared as he threw open the door.

"INCUBUS!!" Wraith shouted again.

But the night had already swallowed him up.


	18. The Following Morning

News of the attack spread quickly around the Gotham Underworld, and before long, most of the Rogues whose charges had been at the foiled slumber party knew of what had happened.  Penguin and Riddler were furious, but not nearly as furious as Magpie and Trick Deck were with themselves.  Something about the previous night had them spooked, something about that voice had triggered a response in their minds, but they could not for the life of them figure out what.

Banshee was also furious with herself, for not having been there to prevent the creeper from getting his hands on her friend, and this self-loathing was evident in her voice when she went to report to the Joker the next morning.  She stood there, fists clenched at her sides, head bowed, and told him the entire story.  He sat on his table, listening with a bored expression, and dismissed her when she was finished, leaving her with the impression he didn't much care for what she was saying.

This however, was far from the truth.

"Hmmm…" he frowned at the door, where Banshee had been a moment before, and tapped his fingers rhythmically as he thought.

"What's the matter, boss?" asked a tiny voice, and he turned to see Stitches watching him intently, hesitating to come too close.

"Did you hear what she said?" he asked nonchalantly.

"About Guen-Guen goin' off the deep end and almost getting…hurt?" she hesitated to say that "R" word.  Joker knew it brought bad memories to the surface when she did, and he watched as Stitches unconsciously stroked one of her angry scars on her stomach.  "Never thought she'd end up split down the middle, like Two-fy.  She was nice." Stitches remarked, tilting her head to the side and smiling crookedly.

"I didn't get to see her snap." Joker whined, feeling rather cheated.  He loved watching people go crazy, and it was rather unfair it had to happen to that little goody-two-shoes when he wasn't around to see.  Still, though… "Stitches?"

"Yes, boss?"

"I'm starting to think sister Banshee is getting just a tad too attached to Gotham's other little ghost girl.  Any thoughts?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I agree with you one hundred percent, boss!" Stitches said eagerly, eyes lighting up as she bared her filed teeth in a sadistic smile, and Joker smirked.  He knew he could always count on his loyal little puppy to agree with him.

"Happy to hear it, Stitchy!  So I think I've got a new job for you: you've gotta make Wraith pay the price, so Banshee gets the hint." he said in a darkly amused way.

Stitches's eyes widened, and her tongue flicked out, running over her cracked, chapped lips.  "You want me to kill Guen?"

The Joker shrugged.  "Eh.  If she lives, fine.  If she dies, whoopsie.  Either way, Banshee learns the lesson.  Well, Stitches?  What do you say?  Think you're up to it?"

Stitches smiled coldly, and opening her mouth, withdrew the fragment of her straight-razor from under her tongue.

"Anything for you, boss."

***

After several hours of waiting in fear with bated breath, Kirk Langstrom's eyes fluttered open at last, letting Francine and Incubus breathe sighs of relief.

"Wh-what happened?" the redheaded man groaned, looking back and forth between his wife and his young friend.

"You were attacked by Lancelot Pendragon." Incubus said darkly.

"Oh, Kirk…" Francine murmured, cradling her husband in her arms, "Why did you have to go and get mixed up in all this?"

"I'm…sorry, Francine.  I know it doesn't fix anything, but I'm sorry." he said softly, closing his eyes contentedly.

"Why didn't you think about us?  About me?" she asked, tears welling up in her eyes, then she added quietly, "About the baby?  What if you had died, Kirk?  Our girl would be born without a father to hold her."

"I wouldn't have died." he said stubbornly, his mouth frowning.

"It's not his fault, Francine.  None of us could have predicted that Achilles Milo would make Pendragon attack Kirk." Incubus pointed out.  "What I want to know is why."

"What do you mean?" Francine asked skeptically.

"I highly doubt that Milo could have predicted I was going to show up at Crane Chemical Labs, otherwise he wouldn't have gone after Guenhivyre.  But he must have decided that I would be otherwise occupied, so he sent Lance here while he tried to infiltrate Professor Crane's lab.  But the question is why he would decide to attack you, Langstrom." Incubus said coldly, crossing his arms.  He had a feeling that the scientist wasn't telling him something, and he didn't like it.  Langstrom knew that he was putting himself at risk by staying silent, so why didn't he just tell him?!

"I—I'm not sure, Logann.  My only guess is that Milo wants something from me, and he thinks I won't willingly divulge it." Kirk answered weakly.

"Any guesses as to what that might be?" Incubus pressed.

"I would tell you if I had a clue, Logann.  But I don't." Kirk sighed.

"Can't you just leave him alone?" Francine sobbed, looking up at him.  She didn't hate him, nor was she angry: Francine had known about Logann even before she'd married Kirk.  No, she was just afraid.  "He nearly died tonight."

"I would've, if not for him." Kirk pointed out in the vigilante's defense.

"You both know I can't leave you completely alone, not now.  Not after this!" Incubus said sharply, heading for the window.  "Lance is likely to attack you again."

"Don't worry too much, Logann," Kirk said, giving him a quirky smile, "I've still got a few tricks up my sleeve.  I can take care of us well enough.  I just wasn't prepared tonight.  You worry about your sister."

Incubus nodded, putting a foot on the windowsill as he slid the pane open.

"The window again?" Kirk groaned, "Don't you ever come and go through the door, like a normal person?"

"Doors," Incubus said simply, "are for people with no imagination."

And he disappeared through the window, the curtains fluttering softly in the breeze.

***

Wraith sat moodily, hugging her knees to her chest and brooding, as Erin prepared everyone hot tea, cocoa, and coffee.  She could feel Guen's presence, still there at the back of their mind, terrified beyond reason and trying to hide.  Wraith had a feeling that if Guen were in control, she'd be sobbing.  Instead, she looked around, seeing Jervis having to help Erin with the teapot because her hands were shaking so bad, and Ink staring at her hands, folded in her lap.  Jonathan wasn't present, as he was busy tending to Twitch, trying to figure out what the poor man had been drugged with.  Whoever her boogeyman was, he was a brilliant chemist, from what the good doctor of fear had deduced, and the thought gave Wraith shivers.

"H-here." Erin mumbled, setting their mugs down on the table, Jervis gently setting his and her tea down, then helping her into a chair.  For a while, everyone sipped at their beverages silently, considering the events of last night.  Finally, Erin broke the silence.

"D-do you think that Mr. Cutter's going to be alright?" she asked.

Ink shook her head to say she had no idea, and Wraith grimaced.

"No clue.  Dr. Crane says that he's still got no idea what Mr. Obsessive drugged Twitch with, and if he can't figure it out yet, that's got me scared." she said, glaring at her cup of coffee.  Her knuckles went white as she gripped it, growling out, " _Braccas meas vescimini!_ "

"Huh?" the other three looked at her, startled.

"It's what I'm going to say to that creep if he ever tries to threaten me, Guen or our friends again!  I don't know what the hell this guy wants, but I'm not going to let him hurt anyone." Wraith snarled.  Ink and Erin exchanged a look, though she didn't catch it, as she began to sip at her coffee.

"So what was the Latin, if you don't mind my asking?" Jervis said in a cold voice.

"'Eat my pants!'" Wraith snarled.  Ink and Erin exchanged another look, both having the impression that this stalker would take that phrase the wrong way.

"Umm…is that the only Latin insult you know?" Erin asked with a weak chuckle.

"Well, it sounds better than ' _Tui mater magna vacca est!_ '" Wraith shrugged, taking a longer sip of her coffee.

"Meaning?" Ink prompted.

"'Your mother is a large cow.'" Wraith answered, just managing to keep a straight face as Ink snorted with laughter into her hot chocolate.

"S-so um…Wraith?" Erin asked, jumping when she looked at her, "D-do you know if…well, what I mean to say is…you and—and G-Guen…"

"You want to know when we switch back." Wraith put it bluntly enough that Erin flinched.  "Honest to God truth?  I've got no clue.  It's not going to be any time in the next couple minutes, I can tell you that.  I can still feel her, and she's scared like crazy.  Can't really blame her—that guy was a freaking sadistic creeper—but she needs to suck it up and keep moving!  She keeps playing the damsel in distress, he's only going to hurt us again."

"Heck yeah!" Ink said, and automatically the two girls bumped their fists together across the table.

"Don't worry, Erin dearest," Jervis purred, wrapping his arms around her and nuzzling her red curls.  "I won't let anyone hurt you."  The two of them began snuggling, becoming oblivious to everything around them, and Ink and Wraith rolled their eyes.

"You know," Wraith said suddenly, looking at Ink, "I just realized something."

"What?" the blonde girl asked.

"I think I figured out why Guen likes you." the brunette answered, waggling a finger and grinning.  "She couldn't figure it out herself, why she felt so close to you and she's only known you for a couple of days.  I think I did."

"Why's that?" Ink asked, quirking an eyebrow, the ink pumping a little harder from her right eye in curiosity.

"Don't take this the wrong way or anything," Wraith said, "But I think it's because we're both kind of… _warped_ in a way.  We each have a physical deformity for one thing; and we're both just a little…" she pointed at the side of her head and spun her finger in a circle, "Tightly wound."

"Interesting way of looking at it…" Ink murmured.

"Please, don't take it the wrong way.  It's a good thing, all aspects considered!  Guen feels like she can depend on you, like she can count on you to understand what she goes through, kind of." Wraith said, attempting a warm smile.

"And you?" Ink asked, arching her eyebrows, making Wraith grin.

"I think you rock hard, Inky!  Nice to know I'm not the only one who'd feel accepted at Arkham!" she chuckled.

"In that case…" Ink smiled, "You wanna go play with some sparklers?"

"Sparklers?" Wraith repeated, a little stunned.

"Yep!  Got a whole stash of them hidden upstairs where Jonathan'll never think to look!  Come on!"  she said, getting excited.  She jumped up from her chair, grabbing Wraith's arm, and dashed from the cafeteria, dragging the winged girl behind her, leaving Erin and Jervis to their own devices.

***

Lancelot snarled in frustration, shattering the glass he had in his grip.

"SIR!" his maid gasped.

"Sorry," he mumbled through clenched teeth, "I'll clean it, Maisy.  Don't worry."

"But your hand!" she cried as he shook the shattered fragments of glass off.

"It's fine." he declared, already feeling the skin knit itself back together, pushing the tinier, microscopic fragments out.

"You need to see a doctor or something, you're bleeding!" she insisted.

"It's fine." he repeated, his tone cold, making her shrink back.

He'd failed to get what he needed from Langstrom, which he wasn't too concerned about; the possibility had been high anyway that the doctor would pull a fast one on him.  Kirk Langstrom had always been too clever to be caught off guard for long.  But the fact that he had lost to Logann Zeus, of all the people!  He snarled again, clenching both fists and gnashing his teeth.

"Sir?" a voice called over the intercom in his office.  Gerard, his secretary.  "Sir, you have a visitor—"

"Tell them I'm away." he answered automatically.

"Sir, he's rather insistent on seeing you," Gerard said, a quaver in his voice, "In fact, he's already on his way upstairs."

He groaned, gripping the edge of his desk wearily, and waited.

It didn't take long before the door was knocked down and Maisy let out a scream of horror.

"I found you!" a voice growled, sounding rather triumphant, and immediately he relaxed, turning to see his visitor, a nearly seven-foot tall man-cat with black-gray fur and bright yellow eyes.

"Tygrus," he sighed, "You've no idea how happy I am to see you, my old friend."

"Lance," Tygrus said, and for once he didn't object; Tygrus alone was allowed to call him that, "Lance, what happened?  You are hurt!"

"My hand?  It's fine." he insisted again.

"Not that!" Tygrus shook his head, pointing a claw at Lancelot's chest, "You have been attacked.  I can smell the blood beneath the bandages."

At this point, Maisy let out a little moan and fainted, which went largely ignored.

"Ahh, that.  Yes, I had a bit of a run-in with Logann Zeus last night.  I was sent to retrieve some things from Dr. Langstrom, and Zeus attacked me.  Seemed to think I was going to kill the man, so he got…enthusiastic." Lance said softly, gingerly touching his chest where the jagged scratches still wept blood into the layers of bandages.

"The next time I see him, I will personally give him a set to match!" Tygrus roared, the fur on his hackles raising as his tail lashed about in rage.  "He will pay for harming you, my brother!"

"You have my thanks," Lance said soothingly, reaching up to stroke the fur on the man-cat's neck, "But Logann Zeus is of little concern to me at the moment.  I have other, more pressing matters to worry myself gray over."

"Hmm?"

"My sister, Guenhivyre.  Do you remember her?"

"Little Bird?  Yes.  Why?"

"Her wings finally grew, Tygrus.  She really is Little Bird now."

"You must show me!  Do you…think she remembers me?" Tygrus asked, his ears pricking up in excitement.

"No, my friend." Lance sighed, regret in his voice and posture, "She doesn't remember hardly anything from before.  She isn't even living with me right now.  But I have been charged to take her back.  For Professor Milo."

A deep, rumbling growl like a roll of thunder began to build in Tygrus's chest.  "Milo.  Father never liked him.  Why are you helping him, Lance?"

"I am bound to him too, Tygrus." Lance said very softly.

"But…only Father should have been…able to command you!" the man-cat protested.

"I know, dear one, I know.  But he must have done something to me when we were younger, after Dorian had me attack him that once.  He must have somehow re-written the functions in my neurochip, because I cannot resist a command from him either." Lance shook his head, unable to look at anything but the floor.  "And he has ordered me to bring Guenhivyre to him.  It's proving hard to do, though; my sister seems to have garnered a vast array of alliances among the criminal underworld here in Gotham."

"And…what does Milo want her for?  I remember you saying…she escaped with Logann.  Why…did they run?  I thought she was so close to Milo…back at the institute.  They were always together.  Why did she…run away?"

"'For I have sworn thee fair and thought thee bright, who art as black as hell, as dark as night.'" Lancelot intoned, quoting his favorite Shakespeare sonnet, "My guess is Milo did something to frighten her, and that's why she ran.  He on the other hand…he's become obsessed with her, Tygrus.  It terrifies me.  Every time I go to report to him…he has a room, and the walls are just covered with photographs of my sister.  My sister!  The way he talks about her, you'd think she was some kind of pearl or precious stone or what-have-you, and nothing else in the world matters to him except claiming her for himself!  The man is beyond obsessed, really!  It's bordering on the point of insanity!"

Tygrus was silent for a long moment, then said, "He has chosen her…as his mate?  Then he has a right…to try and lay claim…before another man can take her away.  It is only fair."

Lance sighed, having forgotten about Tygrus's innocence in these matters, as well as his romantic notions.  Still, he doubted the man-cat would understand, so he decided to leave it at that.

"Yes, Tygrus.  He has chosen her as his mate.  Does it shock you then, that he wants me to bring her back to him?"

"No." he replied, "You are her brother.  She will listen to you.  And when you tell her that…she needs to come back…and reunite with Milo…then she should understand.  Then he will have a chance to win her.  And I also remember…Father saying that Milo…"

"Dorian said what?" Lancelot asked, his attention completely caught.

"Father said…that Milo said a long time ago…that he was the only man…for Little Bird.  That she was made…for him.  That she cannot…" here he paused, frowning, trying to find words to something he couldn't quite explain, "…mate…with any other male.  That…he…planned on…making sure of that.  So she can only have…his…offspring."

Lance's eyes widened in horror at the implications that raced through his mind.

"Oh God.  He didn't just rewrite my neurochip.  He rewrote hers too?!" he grabbed his friend by the arms, regardless of the fur there.

"Father said…only Milo can…awaken?…your sister's urge…to mate?" Tygrus said slowly, obviously puzzled and trying to remember the words correctly, unaware of the gravity and insinuations his words held for his oldest and dearest friend, who promptly passed out in his arms.


	19. A Secret Unveiled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are technically two parts to this chapter, and it's separate on other sites. Here, they're merged.

** CHAPTER 19A, OR, HOW ROOK MET LANCE **

[Rook's POV]

 

Signs and buildings fly past us as I stare out the window of the boss's van, anticipating the job, drumming my fingers on the armrest.

"Would you stop that?" Riddler asks me none-too-gently, baring his teeth.  "It's getting on my last nerve."

"Sorry, Riddly." I answer, dropping my hand.  "Just anxious, that's all.  So…not to sound like I wasn't listening the first time—"

"It wouldn't surprise me if you hadn't been." he remarks, a tad cold.

"—but tell me again _why_ I'm doing this." I finish.  Sheesh, talk about making a guy feel guilty.

"Mr. Pendragon feels that after being attacked by Gotham's newest leather-wearing vigilante, he's not safe, even in his own home." he explains, "And I have another matter to check up on tonight, so I'm going to need you to be a good boy and look after our wealthy beneficiary."

"You mean, Wraith?" I chuckle, making him scowl under his green domino mask and black lipstick.  I just recently met Wraith, and man, she's hot!  I can't blame Riddler for having a soft spot for her, because I've heard nothing but good stuff about her other personality, Guen.

See, here's the breakdown of this big old mess: Jonathan Crane, better known as the Scarecrow, escaped from Arkham a couple weeks back and kidnapped Miss Guenhivyre Pendragon.  Shortly after, they resurfaced and pulled a job on some cop banquet, with Guen introducing herself as his understudy, Wraith.  By this point, the boss had already been contacted by Mr. Pendragon, who says he's Guen's older brother.  Riddly, the Penguin, and that Trick Deck have been trying to keep tabs on Guen for Mr. Pendragon since then.  There's also this other guy, Incubus, new vigilante in town, says he's Guen's older brother, and he's working with the Bat.  And as if that isn't bad enough, just last night, Guen, Ink, and some of the girls had this big slumber party bash thing.

The first issue there, is that they didn't invite me.

The second is that they were attacked.  Apparently Guen has some creepy stalker  who nearly strangled her to the point of fainting, but he didn't count on her having a split personality.  He also didn't count on Incubus showing up to stop him.

At that same time last night, Mr. Pendragon had left his office.  No one knows why.  All anyone heard was that he went to pay a visit to Dr. Kirk Langstrom, to ask about some files or something that Langstrom had.  He wasn't there very long before Incubus showed up and attacked him.  That's a bit of a mystery to me.  What does the vigilante have against some snotty rich boy?

So that's where we're heading.  Riddler's going to drop me off long enough to introduce me, and then he's heading off to go check up on Wraith.

"What's the story there, anyway?" I ask him.  "What's so special about her?  I mean, aside from the wings and rockin' bod."

"Forwards it is heavy, backwards it is not." he shoots back.

Ahh, another riddle.

"Come on, Ed, just tell me."

"Forwards it is heavy, backwards it is not." he repeats firmly.

I already know this one.  "A ton.  The answer is a ton."

"To both questions." he states.

Meaning he's got a lot of reasons why he thinks Guen's special and he's not sharing any of them with me.

_Damn, and just as I thought we were getting to be chums._

"We're here." he adds, parking the van.

So we are.  I unbuckle my belt  and climb out, stunned by the sheer size of the Pendragon building.  I've seen taller, but it's not just the height.  And there's a posh, forbidding air about the place too.

"Well?  Are you going to gawk around outside all day?" Riddly asks me, already heading up to the doors.  I shake myself loose of my staring and go after him, watching his long dark hair blow about in the breeze.  Inside, a secretary glances up, nods at him, stares at me for a moment, then points us in the direction of the elevators.  I can't help but stare at the fountain in the middle of the lobby—a fountain!  Rich little twat!  So wealthy he can afford to be eccentric!—as we make our way there, and during the entire elevator ride, something from a Mozart opera is playing.  The Magic Flute, I think.  The doors open to a hallway done in chestnut wood panel siding and black, rose-patterned carpets with a few ornamental decorations here and there.

"Here we are." says Riddler, and he approaches a door and knocks on it three times.  It's a rapid, quick set of taps, and then a voice says "Enter."

It's an incredible voice, for a man.  Kind of like Ville Valo, but without the smoker's rasp.  Riddly pushes the door open and we walk into a large office, where we see a man sitting at a chair, his back mostly toward us.  He spins around and my first thought is, _Oh isn't this lovely?  Another pretty-boy rich snob._

He definitely looks the part.  Very long dark hair, almost as long as Riddler's, perfect alabaster skin, and dark green eyes that give even me pause.  He's not smiling, nor does he seem surprised to see us, considering the boss didn't call him before coming.  Then again, as I take another look at him, he doesn't seem like the type to ever smile.  Guess he's so rich and good-looking, he can afford not too.

Then I see the bandages.

He's wearing a white, button-up shirt completely open, and underneath, covering his torso and left shoulder is a long strip of bandages, with four red bloody lines slashing diagonally across it.  He stands up from his chair and strides toward us, not even wincing, like he's not even aware he's hurt.

"Ahh, Mr. Nygma.  It is an honor to see you again." he says, slowly inclining his head before looking at me and extending his hand for a shake.  "And who might this be?"

I don't know why I do it, I've got no clue it's happening, but the next thing I know, my gun is in my hand, pointing directly at the bandaged chest, shaking a bit.  It's not a panic attack, but something else.  Warning bells are going off in my head, and at the same time I'm yelling at myself for a fool, pulling a weapon on the boss's new business partner.

But again, Mr. Pendragon doesn't seem surprised; and to my astonishment, he reaches an arm across his waist, takes a step back, and draws a gleaming, gorgeous sword from a scabbard I didn't notice before, holding it at the ready.

"Pendragon!  Greene!" Riddly yells in shock.  Pendragon looks at me disdainfully, thrusting his chin up in the air haughtily.

"Only a heathen brings a gun to a swordfight." he remarks, cocking an eyebrow at me.

"HA!  And only an idiot brings a sword to a gunfight!" I shoot back.  I'm not even sure where that came from.

"You tread thin ice, Mr. Greene." he says, both eyebrows narrowing.

"Ask me if I care!" I spit.

"ROBERT!"  Riddly squawks, grabbing my arm and trying to lower the gun.  "Leave Mr. Pendragon be!"  I sigh and drop the gun back into my holster, while the boss smoothes things over.  "I apologize, sir.  We've both been a bit on edge lately."

"Understandable." Pendragon says, sheathing his sword, and I think I see a corner of his mouth quirk.  Is he attempting to smile…?  "I am quite used to putting people on edge when I first meet them."

"How in the world do you manage to make it as a business tycoon then?" I scoff, and Edward smacks a hand against his face.

"I like him." Pendragon remarks, giving me a small nod.  "He'll do."

_Wait, what?_

***

Two hours later, I find myself sitting at a table across from Mister Pendragon, awaiting lunch.  It turns out to be some kind of cucumber-and-chicken-salad little sandwiches served on an enormous platter.   _Talk about tastes.  I kind of wish there was something a tad more…proletarian to much on…_

"Are you not hungry, Mr. Greene?" Pendragon asks out of the blue.

I haven't touched the sandwiches.  I'm not sure I want to, and now that he's bringing it up, I'm a little suspicious.  He's watching me like a hawk, an eyebrow raised.

"It's uh, a little um, rich…for my taste." I answer, then add as an afterthought, "And Rook will do, sir."

"I see.  Then is there anything else you would desire to have one of my chefs whip up for you, Rook?" he presses.  I'm not sure I want to take him up on the offer, but something about those little chic sandwiches just doesn't seem appetizing.

"I could use a burger, now that you mention it." I answer, and he presses a button on an intercom machine.

"Yes, Mr. Pendragon?" someone on the opposite end asks.

"I require a hamburger—"

"And some steak fries!" I throw in.

"—And a platter of steak fries—"

"Oh, and a chocolate milkshake, hold the cherry!" I add.

"—And a chocolate shake, no cherry, to be brought up for Mr. Greene." he finishes.  
"Yes, sir." the servant on the other line says before there is a click and the intercom turns off.  Pendragon slowly interlocks his fingers and rests his elbows on the table, studying me closely.

"Not the pickiest eater, are you?" he muses, and I say nothing.  "Please," he says, nodding toward the plate of sandwiches, "Feel free to help yourself while you are waiting."

"Why are you so eager to see me eat when you haven't touched any of the food either?" I ask, still suspicious.

"I never begin eating before any guest of mine does.  It's impolite." he answers in a way that says he expects me to have known this already.

"Really?" I shoot back.

"That," he says, "And I do not trust anyone who doesn't immediately begin eating in front of me."

_I was kind of expecting that, sir.  You've got that look to you.  But why, exactly?_

"And why is that, Mr. Pendragon?" the words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, but he just gives me the barest amused ghost of a smile.

"Perhaps one day you'll see, Mr. Greene." he answers.

"Rook," I repeat, then ask, "And do you happen to have a first name I can call you?  Because I'm getting a little tired of this 'Mr. Pendragon' crap all the time."

Still that amused hint of what might be a smile.

"You may call me Lancelot, if I may call you Robert.  Or Lance, for short." he answers.

_Lance, huh?  Not what I was expecting, but it'll work._

My food arrives in a few minutes, and I almost fall on it when it's set before me, but I stop and wait until the server leaves, then look him in the eye.

"I'm not sure I want to start." I say.

"I do not blame you in the slightest." he answers, but neither of us make a go for our sandwiches.  Instead, we wind up in some kind of a staring contest, which I lose because the guy stares like a cat.

"Parlay," he declares out of the blue, "Let us begin at the same time."

"Sounds good to me," I mutter, taking a bite of my burger at the same time he chomps into one of his girly-girl sandwiches.

***

Night has fallen, and still no sign of any alleged attackers.  I'm beginning to wonder if Lance Pendragon doesn't suffer from some kind of paranoia.  I've offered several times to play a game of chess, but he keeps turning me down.   _What's this guy's damage?!_

I pace around the room, polishing one of my guns lovingly, while Lance is busy reading over some legal documents and signing a couple.  He looks up at me every once in a while, but says nothing and soon returns to his work.  Finally I get tired of this endless loop and decide to make a stab at conversation.

"So, this is the high life." I say loudly, and he looks up from his papers with a puzzled "Hmm?"  "All the regular joes wanna be rich, but all it is day in and day out is a bunch of paperwork and these sissy cucumber chicken salad sandwiches!"

"Depends on what you mean when you say rich.  Some lead a so-called glamorous life, while the rest of us struggle and work to keep our inheritance from falling asunder." Lance says, blinking slowly.  "I inherited Dragon's Blood, Inc. from my father when it was nothing more than a small publishing company ready to hit rock bottom.  I've since pulled a few strings and striven to make it into the business empire it is today."

_Ho-hum._

"But for the most part, you are right.  A life like this isn't exactly what most commoners have in mind." he goes on, signing another form.

_Talk about a snob!_

"I rarely have any time these days to focus on my hobbies, my interests…my family, what little of it is left."

_Say what?_

"What do you mean?" I ask.  The subject of family is touchy with me, considering my history…so I'm hoping he stays on the topic of hobbies and interests.

He says nothing and abruptly stands from his desk.

"Come with me." he says, walking toward a door on one side of the room.  I'm still a little leery around him, but I figure I ought to humor him.  After all, he's paying the man who pays me.  He leads me into an adjacent room, completely different from his office as can be.  There are paintings on the walls, bookshelves all over the place, glass display cases here and there of armor and weapons that look Celtic in design, and off in one corner, alone upon a raised section of floor in all its pristine glory—

"A grand piano!" I gasp.

I've seen them before, but I never would have guessed that the humdrum Mr. Pendragon would keep a beauty like this.  It's gorgeous, a soft brown in color, and from the way it shines, I can tell he has it kept in perfect condition at all times.

"You play?" he asks, looking mildly surprised, the first time I've really seen him so.

"Yes." I murmur.  "Do you?"

Instead of responding, he climbs the raised dais and seats himself at the piano bench.

"I'm a great lover of classical music," he remarks, pulling off his overshirt and cracking his knuckles, "But I could never dare befoul the world with my attempts at playing a piece composed by one of the great masters.  However…"

He closes his eyes and begins to play.  The tune sounds familiar, but definitely not older.  I climb the dais and watch, fascinated.  Lance has large hands that look uncoordinated, but his fingers are skilled and fly over the keys with no difficulty.  Even his face is intense with concentration, despite the closed eyes.

I know what's going on.  He doesn't need to look…because he just can feel the music.

Tentatively, I lower myself on the bench beside him and watch, listening to him play for a moment, trying to find this song.  After a bit it hits me.  "Sacrament," by a Finnish band called HIM.

And then the music takes me over.  I throw my own shirt and tie off and out of the way as I take the other half of the keys and begin to play with him.  At first I'm off-rhythm and he opens his eyes to look at me, but soon I find the niche he's in and we begin to play in perfect harmony, the song sounded twice as awesome this way.

Lance opened his mouth at one point and began to sing the words to the tune, stunning me for a moment and making me lose the beat. No fair that some pretty-boy can be rich, AND play piano, AND have an amazing singing voice.  Then again, I did say he sounds like the singer, right?

He opens his eyes as he sings, and there's a far-off look there I can't read.  There's something else too.

Sadness.

I can't help myself at this point.  My voice isn't the best, but I open my mouth and begin to sing along with him.

I'm not sure how long we play and sing.  I'm not sure I care at that point.  For once, someone understands how I feel when I play the piano.  Such a deep, sweet sadness with such a beautiful, pure sound.  So bittersweet.

" _The sacrament is you…_ "

Finally we both stop and let the last notes fade, their voices echoing so stunningly in the acoustics of the room.  I turn and look at him, and he gives me a nod of approval.

"You play well." he says.

Coming from him, I'm saying that's high praise.

"You do too." I respond, and all is quiet for a moment.  Then someone begins to clap.  It's slow and mocking in a way, and it makes me jump.

A man is standing in the doorway we came through, staring up at the dais with a sardonic smile on his face.  He's got a hooked nose, a brunette bowlcut, a white lab coat over his blue shirt and black slacks, and an overall nasty air to him.

I hate him on sight.

" _Brava_ , Mr. Pendragon.   _Brava_." he says with a sneer.

"Dr. Milo." Pendragon says coldly, raising from the piano bench with a dark scowl and stepping down from the dais to approach the man.  "What are you doing here?"

"Coming to check up on you, Mr. Pendragon." the man returns.  He's got a creepy voice that makes me gnash my teeth.  I'm about ready to tell him so when I notice something that strikes me as peculiar.  As I see Lance approach him, I can't help but notice the colored ink marking his back.

What's this then?  The straight-A rich boy has a tattoo?  Why does that seem like he's violated some taboo or something of the upper class society?  I make a mental note to ask him about it.

"What's this then?" this Milo person says it out loud, and for a second, I think he's also referring to the tattoo…until I see him pointing to the bandages wrapped around Lance's torso.

"I…was unable to retrieve what you needed from Langstrom.  Incubus interfered," Lance spat out the name with venomous disdain, "And got a little carried away with stopping me.  Seemed to think I was out to kill Langstrom."

_Wait, "what_ you _needed"??  What was going on here?_

Milo's face darkens.  "You disappoint me, Lancelot."  he snarls, withdrawing a syringe and a stoppered vial from within a pocket of his lab coat.  "Believe me when I say this is going to hurt me more than it hurts you."  An ugly smile spreads over his face as he lifts the vial to eye level.

A frightening change comes over the otherwise stoic Lancelot Pendragon.  His eyes widen with shock and horror, his face drains of all color, and he backs away, starting to tremble violently.  "Th-that's—!"

"Silver nitrate." Milo sneers.  "Should work well enough to teach you a lesson about failing me, my friend."

Oh, do I hate this guy!  My hand reaches for my gun and I fire, just past his shoulder.  He jumps and looks up at me, eyes widening as he actually notices me for the first time.  I feel anger creeping from my skin as I stand from the bench, seething.

I like Lance.  Yeah, it took me a while to decide that, but for a rich totty, he's okay.  I have few friends as it is.  And no one's going to threaten him on my watch.

"What the hell…?  Never took you to hire a themed male hooker, Lance." Milo scoffs, crossing his arms.

"Name's Rook, sunshine!" I snap, jumping down from the dais and taking aim at him.  "I've been hired to watch Mr. Pendragon's back here!"

"Really?" he sounds bored, and just stares at me with these frigid brown eyes.  "Would've been nice if you'd thought to introduce us, Lance." 

"Doctor, leave him out of this." Lance suddenly says.  "I apologize that I was unable to get the files, but that doesn't mean—"

"He almost shot me." Milo snaps at him.  "Of course I'm not going to leave him out of it!"

I chance a look at Lance and nearly jump out of my skin.  If I thought him looking scared was a frightening change before, it's nothing compared to what's happening now.  The green of his irises are bleeding into the rest of his eyes, the pupil, the white, all of it, and there are cracking noises coming from the area of his jaw as he scowls.  Milo notices too, and starts taking steps back, his eyes going wide.  I'm not sure whether I should step back or not, but I know what I am going to do.  I reach toward my pocket and pull out my cell phone, flipping it open and hitting speed dial.   _Please oh please let him pick up…_

Lance surges to his feet, and his hair, so carefully slicked back before with only three bangs making up his fringe, flies all over the place wildly as he lets out an inhuman snarl.  Then, I'm not quite sure what happens, but he's suddenly black all over, the same shade of his hair, and… _furry_?!  His face elongates into a muzzle, and his mouth is full of sharp animal teeth.  My heart is pounding as I'm hearing the phone ring on the other end.   _Damn it, Riddly!  Pick up!_

Lance throws his head back and howls upon completing his transformation, and then starts toward Milo, who's quickly making tracks backward, looking like the devil's come to claim his soul.

Riddler picks up at last.

"Robert, what is it?" he hisses angrily.  "Now is _not_ a good time!"

_Gee boss.  Thanks so much._

"Boss, you're not going to believe this," I say, my voice a bit higher-pitched than normal, "But Lancey here—"

"Who?"

"Mr. Pendragon!  His first name's Lancelot!"

"Lancelot?  Are you sure it's not Logann?"

_What?  What kind of stupid question is that, boss?_

"Positive, boss!  And I'm not so sure Lancey needs around the clock protection!" I say as Lance lunges toward Milo, who cowers and squeezes his eyes shut.  Riddler's silent on the other end of the phone for a bit, and I'm about to yell at him when he asks me something again.

"What makes you say that, Robert?" he asks.  He doesn't sound sarcastic for once.  What's up with that?  Why the hell am I having this weird night?!  I watch as Lance rips the bandages from his chest, which shows no sign of injury, and swallow over the lump in my throat.

"Lance is a werewolf, boss.  I shit you not, a genuine, certified werewolf!  Ears, tail, the whole nine yards!" I squeak.

There's silence on the phone, then Riddly lets out a stream of curses and the line drops.  Again, that's different.  No teasing me and saying I must have eaten some bad fungi?  Definitely a weird night.

"L-Lancelot, stand down!" Milo says, still looking like he's facing down Dr. Lucy Phur.  What the Jonah Hex is up with this guy?

Then, surprisingly, Lance backs off, though his hackles are still raised and he's growling from deep within his barrel-like chest.  I watch as his ears lay flat and his tail swishes back and forth, his legs ready to spring.  Not good signs.

"Lancelot, you know what'll happen if you kill me!" Milo reminds him, and the ears prick up, the tail stops moving.  Lance lets out a keening whine then turns his back to the guy and sits like a dog, the effect of which is odd, since he's more human-shaped than wolf-shaped still.  He huffs and sticks his nose in the air.

_Even as a werewolf, he's a snob!_

"Do NOT do that again, Lancelot!" Milo snaps, looking like he's regaining some of his previous bluster.  I take aim at him and he freezes, but his eyes are narrowed again.  He's not afraid of me, which I intend to rectify.  Everyone on my bad side should be afraid of me.

"Gee, I'm intrigued!" I say happily, walking up toward him and shoving the barrel of my gun against his chest, though it does nothing to rid him of that defiant face.  "Just what exactly is going to happen if I shoot you dead?"

Milo just glares at me and doesn't say anything, and suddenly Lance side tackles me out of nowhere.

You ever run sidelong into a brick wall?  Then you've got some idea of what it's like to be tackled by a werewolf, except they're much fuzzier and it's more like the wall is running at _you_.

I yelp and try to get out of his grasp but he's got me pinned to the floor and my gun pointing safely away toward a window.  He's not pinning me too hard, but I'm on the verge of a panic attack anyway.

"Do…not…shoot…Dr. Milo…" he says, bringing his muzzle down where I can see, staring at me with green eyes that are more animal than human.  "He is…a fool…and deserves all the anger…he brings on himself…but don't…do not shoot him."

I chuckle dryly.  "If you're going to feed me some bullshit about how I shouldn't lower myself to that level, werewolf, need I remind you I'm a professional gunman?  I've taken lives before."

Lance shakes his head, green eyes sad.  "For my sake…please…do not shoot him, Robert.  Please…stay your hand."  And slowly he releases me from his grip and lets me up.

"You've made the right choice, Lancelot.  I'm positive your sister will thank you for it later on." Milo says, brushing nonexistent dust from his lab coat.

"Wraith?" I stammer.  "What's Wraith got to do with this?"

Milo smiles at me and it makes my skin crawl.  "Everything." he answers, and suddenly sweeps from the room.  I race to follow, to bring him back, but he's disappeared at the office door.

"Let him go…" I hear Lance say behind me, and I turn to see him already shifting back to his human form.  "He's blackened my doorstep enough for one night.  I do not wish to have him here any longer than is necessary."

Now that the fur is gone I can see his tattoo clearly as he walks back to the dais to retrieve his overshirt: a curling ivy vine, twisted in the shape of a frame around the words "His Wrath Undoes the Wicked."  The quote tickles at the back of my mind, so familiar, and I notice something else, too: high on each of his shoulders is a beautifully cut crescent-shaped scar.  As he starts to slip the shirt back on, he looks over his shoulder and notices me staring, and I jump, worried that he's going to kill me.

"I know you probably have questions, and I'm willing to provide answers, but one at a time." he remarks, pulling the shirt on all the way.  Automatically I take a deep breath in, then out, trying to regulate my breathing.  I pick the easiest one first.

"A werewolf?"

"For lack of a better term, yes."

"The tattoo?"

"A quote about Lancelot, the knight of King Arthur.  I feel I must live up to my namesake, so I had the legend embedded in my skin."

"The crescent moon scars?"

"Silver is the only metal pure enough to scar so excellently."

These aren't quite the answers I'm looking for.  For saying quite a bit of words, he's not really telling me much at all.  Still, I press on.

"The walking bowlcut?"

"That's complicated."

"Why'd he back off like that when you transformed?"

"He's afflicted by Lycaonphobia.  Fear of werewolves.  Ironic, considering he needs my assistance for his plans."

_Somehow, I wouldn't mind introducing these two to old Jonathan Crane.  He'd get a kick out of this._

"And what's Wraith got to do with any of this?" I ask again.  For some reason, I feel suddenly worried for the punky little girl with wings.

This apparently, was the wrong question to ask.  Lance regards me coldly with those green eyes, and I'm worried he's going to transform again.  But he only sighs after a while and sags his shoulders.

"As Milo said, everything."

"What's his damage, anyway?  Sounds like it's just an issue between you, him, and Dr. Kirk Langstrom.  Why drag her into it?" I press on, angry that such a cute girl would be the victim here.

"No, Robert."  Lance says in mournful tones, like he's getting ready to attend a funeral.  "My sister, by no means or designs of her own, is the root of the matter where Dr. Milo is concerned.  There is no simple way to explain it, but you just need know that his obsession with Guenhivyre is old, dangerous, tenacious, and runs deeper than a vein of metal in the earth."

_Talk about disturbing!  I really didn't need to hear that…_

"If you are quite done with your interrogation," he adds, "I believe some rum is in order."

"Rum?" I ask a little hopefully.  I could use some alcohol after tonight.  "Got any whiskey or anything?"

"I imagine Gerard might be able to find something suited to your tastes in the cellar." is all he says.  We went back into his office, where he promptly buzzed for the drinks over the intercom, and within a number of minutes, a servant appeared with two bottles, one a clear coconut rum, the other a large container of whiskey.  He offered us glasses, but Lance waves him out of the room.

"Knock thyself out, Robert." he says, opening his rum and throwing his head back for a long swig.

I grin and decide I definitely like Lance Pendragon, rich, stuck-up pretty boy or not.  I open the whiskey and pause.

"You're not going to check my ID or anything?" I tease.

"As far as I'm concerned, you've been through enough that you shouldn't need to worry about such trivialities.  Arthur and his knights would no doubt drown their sorrow after a battle, wouldn't they?  So then shall we."  he responds, taking another long swallow.  I smile and toss back my head, swallowing some whiskey, which burns my throat like liquid fire.

"I like that line of thinking," I say, "So why didn't you tell the boss you're a werewolf?"

"That's not exactly a fact one wants to publicly go announcing everywhere, now is it?" he drawls, wagging a finger at me.

"But you've got no problem letting me see?" I ask.

"I trust you." he answers, and I feel the pit of my stomach sink.  He trusts me?  But I'd already gone and opened my big mouth to Riddler about it.  I had a feeling that I would lose his trust when he found out, and I was going to get hell about it from Edward anyway.

_Oh, man.  I could have just ended their partnership with that.  Shit, I'm really in trouble now!_

"Don't look so pale!" He snaps, making me jump.  "I'm not deaf, you know!  I could hear your entire conversation with him.  It was only a matter of time before he found out on his own anyway, genius that he is!"

"You psychic too?" I asked, taking another drink, feeling a pleasant buzzing sensation start up in my head.

"I can smell your worry." he answers.

_But of course…?_

"The rest is simply lucky guesswork," he goes on.

"I'm probably in big trouble with the boss now." I say, staring at carpet sadly.

"Right now, actually, you aren't.  You probably will be in a few hours.  For the time being, I say we drink to your health." Lance remarks.  I stare at him.  The guy's an enigma, but for once, I don't think I much mind.

I raise my bottle and clink it lightly against his.

"To your health too." I say.

"Our health, if you wish to be grammatically accurate." he says with the barest hint of a smile.

"You know, Lancey," I say, grinning at him, "This could be the start of a beautiful friendship!"

+++++

+++++

**Chapter 19B, or, The Other Side Of Things**

 

"So…not to sound like I wasn't listening the first time—" Rook started.

"It wouldn't surprise me if you hadn't been." the Riddler remarked coldly.

"—but tell me again _why_ I'm doing this." Rook finished.

"Mr. Pendragon feels that after being attacked by Gotham's newest leather-wearing vigilante, he's not safe, even in his own home." Riddler explained, "And I have another matter to check up on tonight, so I'm going to need you to be a good boy and look after our wealthy beneficiary."

"You mean, Wraith?" Rook chuckled, and Riddler scowled. The boy had met Wraith after her job at the museum, and when he'd learned that she was friends with the Riddler prior to meeting her, he'd not stopped teasing his boss about her since. Riddler wasn't sure his gunman knew the extent of his feelings for the winged girl, but he didn't like the needling all the same. Rook went on, "What's the story there, anyway? What's so special about her? I mean, aside from the wings and rockin' bod."

"Forwards it is heavy, backwards it is not!" the Riddler shot at him.

"Come on, Ed, just tell me." the boy whined.

"Forwards it is heavy, backwards it is not." he repeated firmly.

"A ton," Rook answered with an exasperated sigh, "The answer is a ton."

"To both questions." Riddler declared, sealing the conversation. He pulled into a parking space and they left the van, Riddler escorting his young protégé through the Dragon's Blood Inc. building to the same floor where Guenhivyre had met her brother, but this time he took a different door. He gave the same rhythmic three taps, and Logann Pendragon called from inside, "Enter."

Riddler pushed the door open, and stared in shock as Logann turned in his chair, displaying his bandaged chest like a cardinal. He'd been suspicious of Logann since finding the bruises on Magpie's neck, but clearly the man had been through something much worse. He himself was a target, and whoever had harmed Vanessa and May had obviously been trying to get to him. And it seems they'd almost succeeded.

"Ahh, Mr. Nygma. It is an honor to see you again." Logann said as he rose from his chair and came to greet them, inclining his head. "And who might this be?"

Riddler was ready to introduce Rook, but the gunman suddenly drew one of his firearms and pointed it at Logann Pendragon, who in response took a step backward and drew a magnificent sword from a sheath he hadn't previously noticed. His heart hammered in horror.

"Pendragon! Greene!" he yelled hoarsely. Logann tilted his chin into the air in a haughty manner, regarding Rook disdainfully.

"Only a heathen brings a gun to a swordfight." he remarked, cocking an eyebrow.

"HA! And only an idiot brings a sword to a gunfight!" Rook spat back.

"You tread thin ice, Mr. Greene." Logann said in a growl of a voice.

"Ask me if I care!" Rook snapped.

"ROBERT!" Riddler squawked, grabbing his arm in an attempt to lower the gun. "Leave Mr. Pendragon be!" Rook sighed, returning his weapon to its holster, and Riddler looked back that young rich man. "I apologize, sir. We've both been a bit on edge lately."

"Understandable." Pendragon said, sheathing his sword, "I am quite used to putting people on edge when I first meet them."

"How in the world do you manage to make it as a business tycoon then?" Rook scoffed. Edward Nygma buried his face in his hands. He'd been trying to help Pendragon, not offend him! And here Rook was taking four steps backward for every one forward!

"I like him." said Logann Pendragon, shocking them both as he gave Rook a nod. "He'll do."

***

He'd only heard rumors about how the Batman was called when he operated by day, and even then, most people weren't sure that the guy _did_ go out by day. Still, he'd gotten a tip-off from his radio scanner when he tuned it to the police broadcast frequency, and it sounded like the Batman was going to show up in the Commissioner's office that afternoon.

Which meant he ought to go see if his help would be needed.

Clio didn't want him to go out so soon after the incident with Langstrom, but he was twenty-three, damn it. His mother couldn't control him anymore, no matter how much she worried about him.

"Mom, it's gotta be done." he argued.

"I don't care what you think, Logann!" she answered. "Batman can handle this city's problems on his own!"

"Mom, I know you feel that way, but this is just something I've gotta do!" he sighed, and after a few more moments of conversation that generally followed that same vein of tone, Clio gave in and let him out of the apartment, though very reluctantly. He left quickly, his duffle bag full of his outfit and effects slung over his shoulder, and dashed out of sight behind the apartment complex. There was a covered parking garage, and he was able to usually change behind his car, but today he was more on edge than usual and didn't want to take the chance that Lance Pendragon was going to be waiting for him out there.

_Assuming Lancey-pants knows where I live_ , he told himself wryly.

Still, better not to take chances, so he left the apartment as he was, Logann Zeus, and went walking around Gotham. It wasn't until around four in the afternoon that he slipped, unnoticed, into a busy shop to borrow the men's changing room, and left as Incubus, a notable swagger in his step. He was easily able to walk the streets of Gotham even in this identity, since he was mostly still unknown to the criminal underworld; most people looking at him would just see a rather smug looking young man dressed in a lot of black leather, and wonder why in the world he wasn't dying due to the heat.

"Right then, time to pay the boys in blue a visit." he murmured to himself, heading downtown for the police station. It wasn't difficult to find, what with the large lamps out front proclaiming the name of the station. Still, he'd look a tad suspicious if he just walked in there, so he had to find another way to get inside. There was an alley behind the station, perfect for use. When the officers leaving the building turned to look in the opposite direction, he slipped between the buildings and out of sight, hanging close to the wall. The station was a good number of stories high, but he doubted that would be a problem; facing the wall and reaching up with his hands, which had abruptly sprouted long, claw-like nails, he began to climb.

The walls were brick, and smooth for the most part, but his nails allowed him to climb without handholds, though his combat boots had a time of getting up. In the end it was his tail that really saved him. He uncoiled it from around his waist and pumped it back and forth in quick, rhythmic motions, only glancing down to check that it didn't come within the sight of any windows. Three feet long and pure lizard muscle, the tail helped keep him balanced and helped by adding propulsion to his movements.

For all the things about being a mutant he hated, at least he had one upside to it.  And better to be a mutant who lived to protect the city, rather than harm it.

"—for your own good, Babs. You know better."

That was Commissioner Gordon's voice!

Incubus scrambled a little further up the wall, moving slightly to the side so he could still listen in and keep out of sight at the same time. The window was slightly ajar, and he could hear a young woman's voice responding to the commissioner.

"I'm eighteen, Daddy! Shouldn't I be allowed to choose for myself by now without any, you know…?" she protested weakly.

"I know, Babs, I know. But I'm not fond of this suggestion, and I question your judgment. The answer, as it stands, is no." the commissioner replied.

Wait, Gordon had a daughter? Why hadn't _he_ heard about that before?!

There was a soft whisper of displaced air and he jerked his head to the side just as the Batarang embedded itself into the masonwork where his head had been. He gasped and looked over his shoulder, seeing the dark shadow with pointed ears across the alley, crouched on a fire escape.

"Didn't take you to be the type who snuck around listening at closed doors, Incubus." Batman said in his low, menacing voice.

"Um, hello? Earth to Bats!" Incubus scoffed, "It's a _window_ and it's _open_. Besides, it's not like I have some psychic whatever like you and I just know when something's going down."

"What's with the tail?" Batman asked, his cowl twitching as he raised an eyebrow. "I somehow doubt you were born with it."

"Bingo, Bats." he snorted, "This is the result of gene-splicing with Komodo dragon DNA and an eight-year-old kid. I've got a muthafuggin tail." He swung it back and forth a few times for emphasis. A change came over Batman and he stood to his full height, watching Incubus closely.

"Gene-splicing." he said simply.

"What, you deaf?" Incubus asked, "DUH! They infused me with Komodo dragon DNA as a kid. You need me to demonstrate with flash cards?"

And suddenly, his world went black.

***

The door to the lab swung open before he could knock, and the scowling face of Jonathan Crane loomed in his way.

"Nygma." he said simply.

"Crane." Edward returned simply, staring down his nose at him.

"You've got some nerve, coming back here." Jonathan snapped, not moving.

"Is your head still sore, Scary?" Edward asked in mocking tones, smiling poisonously.

"Eddy? Eddy, is that you?" he heard a voice call, and suddenly Jonathan Crane was flung off to the side, a look of shock on his face as Ink caught him and Guenhivyre tackled the Riddler with a hug.

"Eddy!" she cried, "You've got no idea how happy I am to see you!"

"And I you." he said, briefly giving her a squeeze before holding her out at arm's length. "I heard about the attack the other night. How are you holding up?"

"I'm doing better. Ink and Erin have been helping me a lot." she answered. At this, Eddy glanced up, caught Ink's eye and the two of them smiled at each other as the blonde girl nuzzled Jonathan Crane's cheek.

"If I may?" Eddy asked Guen, and before she could protest, he lowered the high collar of her shirt. Her eyes widened and she shivered a bit, reaching up as though she wanted to touch her neck, but couldn't. The Riddler scowled in anger as he found what he'd been expecting: fading, purple and yellow bruises in the shapes of fingerprints.

"H-how did you…?" Guen whispered.

"He tried to strangle you, but he let up after a few moments," Edward stated. "Do you know why, by chance?"

Slowly, Guen opened her wings behind her, fluttering them a bit, and looked away.

"Birdy wings!" Ink squealed, her eyes lighting up as she glanced over.

"I-it….he was my…my boogeyman." she said.

"Boogeyman?" the Riddler repeated.

"The figure from her past, old boy," came the voice of Jervis Tetch as he entered the room, Erin at his side, "Who still haunts her nightmares. And I daresay the same person who put those wings where they are. Isn't that right, Miss Pendragon?" His voice became cold with this last sentence, but Erin didn't seem to notice as she hugged his arm.

"Guen, is this true?" Edward asked, eyes widening beneath his domino mask, and he took a step back when she nodded.

"E-essentially." she answered, "H-he told me that…that I needed to be punished…that I'd been bad…" She trailed off and stared at the floor again, and she soon began to shake. He reached out, squeezed her shoulder, and she snapped back to reality, blinking hard at him.

"Guen?" he asked softly.

"S-sorry…Just—" she started.

"Lost in thought?" he finished. What was happening to her, the poor girl? Abruptly she screamed, making everyone present jump back as she doubled over.

"Guen?!" Erin cried, rushing to her side.

"Don't!" Ink said, intercepting her and holding her hands back. Eddy's feeling of déjà vu hit hard as he watched her shake, heard the unmistakable cracking sounds, and watched her wings begin to expand, the feathers pushing further out, new ones sliding into place where needed.

"Incredible!" Jervis and Jonathan hissed at the same time. Finally, the trembling began to slow, and she started to uncoil.

"Guenhivyre?" Edward whispered, gently touching her shoulders. She gave a brief shudder, then raised her head and looked him in the eyes. Something was different about her, and it wasn't just the new inches on the wings.

"Sorry, Ed." she said in a scratchy voice, kind of like an angry singer from a screamo band. "Guen's still a little shook up, but I'm here if you've got questions."

"What in the world—" he gasped, taking a step back.

"Call me Wraith." she said with a mischievous grin. "And can I just say, you are one sexy beast, Nygma my friend!" He felt his cheeks go pink and his jaw dropped as he looked to the others, stunned and trying to form words to ask for an explanation.

"What you're witnessing, Nygma," Crane drawled in bored tones, "Is her apparent split personality. Not too unlike a couple of our friends back in Arkham. Seems she likes you."

"H-how long…?" he tried to ask.

"I've only known about it since the first job." Crane went on, "The second she looked at that jade vase there was something about her demeanor that changed entirely. However, I couldn't be sure it wasn't just a one-thing where she was getting into character, so I said nothing.  
"  
"You are an idiot, Dr. Crane!" Edward seethed.

"Care to run that by me again, Nygma?" Jonathan snapped back.

"Both of you, knock it off!" Ink growled, and they both subsided at once, though they still cast venom-filled looks at each other.

"Geez!" Wraith chuckled. "Sounds like what we all need is a bit of down-time."

"Down-time? What'd you have in mind?" Erin asked, eyes lighting up. "Because I wouldn't mind stopping at the park!"

"Sounds good. Any other suggestions?" Wraith asked.

"Oooh! We should go shopping!" Ink said excitedly.

"Shopping?" Jonathan asked in a voice dreading the worst.

"Awesomesauce," Wraith chuckled, "And personally, I wouldn't mind stopping at an arcade."

"Sounds like we're set then!" Jervis said.

"But we can't go dressed like this!" Edward objected, "Some fool could recognize us and alert the Batman!"

"What's wrong with how we're dressed?" Erin pouted, looking down at her Alice apron.

"What we need is something that'll help us blend in a little better." Wraith said with a wicked grin. "I say that means we go shopping first."

***

He awoke with a dull throbbing pain in his temples, and he saw only a black ceiling high above him when he opened his eyes, making him think for half a moment he'd not opened them at all.

"Rise and shine, sleeping lizzy." taunted a voice.

"Robin." Incubus muttered, trying to move an arm to rub his forehead, only to discover he had both hands tied behind his back. "Oh, great. Thanks a ton for not trusting me."

"The restraints were necessary." came a familiar voice, and suddenly the masked face was looming above him.

"Kinky." Incubus grumbled angrily, feeling his tail numb.

"Why didn't you tell me you're the son of Maximillian Zeus?" Batman demanded, and Incubus's blood turned to ice in his veins.

"You're imagining things. All that time under your cowl has made you, for lack of a better word, batty, Batman." His voice came out in a squeak.

"Don't play games, Logann. Why didn't you tell me that you're Maxie's son?" he demanded again, the eye slits of his cowl narrowing.

"Would you have trusted me if I told you?" Incubus snapped, "After all, you put Dad in Arkham, Batman. Not that I'm not grateful; he sucked as a father. But would you have trusted me if you knew?"

Batman said nothing, but simply watched him.

"So where are we?" Incubus sighed, looking around. "It's a cave, I can tell that much. Really getting into the theme of things, huh?"

"You first came to me asking about Guenhivyre Pendragon. The two of you don't exactly share the same last name or family." Batman remarked in a dangerous voice.

"Figured that one out on your own, did you?" Incubus muttered. "She's my half-sister, Bats. Mom had a little affair with Arty Pendragon some time after Dad got admitted to Arkham. I was four years old when Guen was born. Mom was scared that if Dad ever got rehabilitated, he'd kill us all if he knew about what she'd done, so she named Guen for Artemis's great-aunt and mostly kept her at the Pendragon estate. If you don't believe me, you only need to put my mom and Guen in the same room and look at them. Guen's got the Pendragon coloration, but she's Mom all over again."

Batman was silent for a long moment, then said, "I've met your mother. Clio, isn't it? I believe you."

"What? Are you serious?" Robin asked somewhere out of sight.

"I thought something about Guenhivyre Pendragon was familiar when we met up with her and the Scarecrow at the museum. She _is_ Clio all over again." Batman remarked.

"Told ya." Incubus said.

"You also showed up last night when Kirk Langstrom was attacked by a werewolf." Batman remarked. "I've dealt with a werewolf before, but this was not Anthony Romulus. I'm betting, owing to that tail of yours and the wings on Guenhivyre's back, that there's a connection. An attack on Langstrom of all people is _not_ what I'd just dismiss as coincidence. Time to start talking, Logann Zeus."

Incubus sighed.

***

Erin and Jervis had disappeared into the Wonderland section of the park, and Ink had convinced Jonathan to go see the fountains with her, a blushing, goofy expression on the good doctor of fear's face. Edward swallowed over the lump in his throat, suddenly feeling rather nervous. Wraith—or Guen, rather, as she'd switched back after a while—was dragging him toward a section of the park themed for Harry Potter, a rather recent addition.

"Isn't it neat, Eddy?" she asked, laughing.

"They're wizards." He remarked in disdain.

"But it's _awesome_!" she said forcefully, examining a sculpture of a hippogriff. Edward smiled at her for a moment, then found a bench at the Ravenclaw table replica and sat down, watching.

"You like it, huh?" he asked.

"DUH!" she answered, pretending to tweak the hippogriff's ears. Finally she skipped back over and sat across from him, beaming. "Isn't this great?"

"What?" he asked, arching a black eyebrow at her, and her cheeks went slightly pink.

"This. All of us going out, having fun…and getting to spend a bit of time with you, just the two of us." She said very softly, looking away. "We've not gotten a chance to do this since my last visit to the asylum."

Eddy was suddenly aware of just how lovely she looked beneath the starlight, and he felt his own cheeks go pink.

"This is true. We've rarely been able to take a few moments and just talk like this." He said, steepling his fingers.

"Got any new ones for me?" she asked, smiling slyly.

"How about this one? I am the beginning of the end, and the end of time and space. I am essential to creation, and I surround every place. What am I?" he chuckled.

"Give me a moment." Guen muttered, putting a finger to her lips in thought, and he felt overcome by a strange urge. She was looking the other way, so there was no point in not trying. He leaned forward—

"The letter E!" she exclaimed, and frowning, he sat back.

"You keep getting faster." He remarked, and she beamed again.

"Why, thank you Mr. Nygma!" she laughed.

It was now or never.

"Guenhivyre," he said, reaching out and grasping one of her hands, "There's something I must tell you."

"A-actually Eddy," she said, going rather red in the face, "I-I've got something to tell you too…"

And it was at that precise moment that his cell phone started to ring. He let out a growl and retrieved it from his pocket, glancing only briefly at the caller ID before answering.

"Robert, what is it?" he hissed, "Now's not a good time!"

"Boss," Rook said in an usually high-pitched voice, and Riddler held the phone away from his ear, so they could both hear, "You're not going to believe this, but Lancey here—"

"Who?" Riddler asked, and Guen gave him a puzzled look.

"Mr. Pendragon!" Rook shouted into the phone. "His name's Lancelot."

They exchanged a significant look before Riddler addressed the phone again.

"Lancelot?" he asked tentatively. "Are you sure it's not Logann?"

"Positive, boss! And I'm not so sure Lancey needs around the clock protection!"

He should have trusted his instincts! He knew something was up with Mr. Pendragon! And Guen was looking mortified, like she was about to run away.

"What makes you say that, Robert?" he asked slowly.

"Lance is a werewolf, boss. I shit you not, a genuine, certified werewolf! Ears, tail, the whole nine yards!" Rook squeaked over the phone. Eddy looked up, meeting Guen's eyes and seeing his own horror mirrored there before he let loose a wild string of angry curses and snapped the cell phone shut.


	20. A Meeting And An Offer

Needless to say, the news Rook had given them did _not_ go over well.  Their little party had been broken up with haste, and Edward was not satisfied until he'd seen all three of the girls home.  He lingered on the doorstep of Crane Chemical Labs longer than the others, both eager to see Guenhivyre safe and reluctant to let her out of his sight.  For her part, she was strangely apologetic.

"I-I'm sorry, Eddy—"

"What," he asked irritably, "are you apologizing for?  It's not as though you knew your brother was a werewolf and a liar."

She glared at that, rendering him speechless.

"I'm not going to deny that he's not been entirely true with you, but he's still my brother!" she snapped defensively.

"Who has tried to play us all for fools and treats you like a complete and total stranger!" he snapped back.  "In fact, I'm beginning to question what exactly his motives are for wanting to get back in contact with you so suddenly."

"He's my brother!" Guenhivyre protested, tears welling up at the corners of her eyes, and he could have hit himself for making her cry.  All of this…it was all still tied into her past.  Her past she couldn't remember.  He was stupid, making her upset over the one thread she would cling to, the one scrap of information that would give her some insight into what happened so long ago.

Without really knowing why, Edward reached out and enfolded her in his arms.  Guen gave a little squeak of surprise that made his heart flutter for a moment before he gave her a tight squeeze.

"Don't worry, Guen.  I'll solve this riddle for you." he whispered in a fervent promise.

He just had to!

His course of action immediately afterwards seemed like such a simple one.  He'd just have to go to Pendragon's home and interrogate him.  He headed back for his hideout, ready to suit up for the occasion…but Rook wasn't there.  Edward frowned, puzzled.  Surely the little idiot would high-tailed after calling him, and come back here.  There was no reason for him to stay now, and if he'd not come back here, he would have called Edward.  Suddenly the Riddler's breath caught in his throat.

Of course!

Pendragon must have taken the boy hostage!  Why else would he have not come back?!  The Riddler paced the length of the room, trying to run through his options as quickly as he was able.  Rook was quite capable of protecting himself, but against a werewolf?  And what about Guenhivyre?  Would she be safe…?  What was he to do?  Time was running out!

He wasn't quite sure how, but it came as a shock to him when he found himself standing outside of the Dragon's Blood, Inc. building and he realized he must have blanked out in the time it took him to get there.  He was fully dressed in his outfit, and leaving his van as he registered where he was.

"Right then, Mr. Pendragon.  It's time _you_ gave _me_ a few answers." he muttered to himself.  He burst into the lobby, striding right past the guards and secretary there, took the elevator up to the top floor, and stormed through the hall, to the room where he'd left Rook with Mr. Pendragon.  He hesitated just outside the door, hearing slurred voices coming from within, then pounded vigorously on the wood, as if he could split it apart with the force of his fist.

"Enter!" came the brisk command.  Edward was only too happy to comply and threw the door open violently, letting it slam against the wall.

He'd been expecting to see a frightening scene laid out before him.  Rook bound and gagged, tied to a chair perhaps.  Lancelot Pendragon possibly leaning against his desk with a smug expression and a nail file in  hand.  The worst he'd been expecting was to find his gunman laying on the floor, unconscious, a pool of blood around his head, his skull caved in, his clothes and skin shredded with a fully transformed werewolf crouching above him and ready to howl in triumph.

The last thing he'd been expecting to see was Rook and Lancelot Pendragon sitting at a coffee table, Rook necking a half-drained bottle of whiskey, Pendragon taking long drafts of rum as they played Yahtzee.  They both looked up when he entered, Rook blinking and trying to focus through his bleary, alcohol-addled haze.

"What is going on here, Mr. Pendragon?" the Riddler demanded softly, thumping his question-mark cane against his palm in a manner that indicated his short temper.

"I'm trying for three of a kind.  Why don't you join us?" Lancelot answered seriously, twirling his bottle of rum in one hand as he shook some dice in the other.

That did it.

The Riddler rushed him with a snarl, pulling his cane back and then swinging it forward violently to connect with the side of the taller man's head.  Rook shouted something incoherently, shocked, and jumped to his feet, grabbing Riddler from behind, trying to pull him away.  Lance's head barely turned with the force of the cane, and though the sharp point of it drug across his cheek, he hardly seemed fazed.

"I'm not here to play games, _Lancelot_." the Riddler snarled, furious.

He turned his head back slowly, and the jagged, bloody tear the cane had ripped in Lance's face began to close, the skin knitting itself together at an accelerated rate, until nothing was left but a slightly pink line of skin and blood that dried up almost instantly.  Riddler felt his breath escape his mouth in a gasp, his jaw dropping, and Lance's emerald eyes regarded him coldly.

"I do not take kindly to such attacks on my person, Edward Nygma." Lancelot Pendragon said in his calm, controlled way, his voice soothing even in his anger.

"You have some explaining to do, Pendragon.  And I'm not leaving until I have answers that satisfy me!" the Riddler shot back, hardly missing a beat.

"Good," came a voice from somewhere in the darker corners of the room, "Because neither am I."

All three of them spun around as one, and Batman emerged from behind the black curtains that blocked out the windows.

"YOU!" Riddler hissed, going tense.

"I think all three of you have some talking to do," he said in his menacing growl, "Starting with you, Lancelot Pendragon, and this business with your half-sister."

But it seemed that answering Batman's questions didn't sit well with the young business tycoon.  He surged to his feet, the emerald green of his irises bleeding into the rest of his eyes, his mouth slightly ajar and making strange cracking noises as a growl emerged from deep in his chest.

"SHIT!" Rook yelled, jumping back and pulling the Riddler with him.  Batman took a shocked step backwards, as Lance's hair began to fly about his head, but he recovered quickly, drawing a shining bat-a-rang from his utility belt.  Lance snarled, snapping his maw as he rushed toward the vigilante.  Startled, Batman spun out of the way and jumped onto the werewolf's back, wrapping his powerful arms around the neck covered in black fur.  Lance snarled again, shaking like a dog after a bath, trying to throw Batman from his back, but the hero held tight.

"I never thought I'd see a vigilante try to rodeo a werewolf," Riddler remarked ironically, still in shock.

"We've gotta do something!" Rook shouted, punching his boss in the arm in hopes of bringing him to his senses.

"Of course!" Riddler agreed, rushing toward his struggling foes and swinging his cane at Batman's head.

Vigilante and werewolf were both too fast, and Lance ducked while Batman lashed out with a kick that caught the Riddler in the stomach, sending him flying backward into Rook.  The two of them crashed to the floor, the wind knocked from their lungs, and they struggled to their feet, watching as their oldest foe tussled with their employer, who now resembled not so much of a man as he did an enormous, liquid-black shadow with green wolf eyes.  The two flung their weight against each other's movements wildly, thrashing and running about the room madly, knocking over anything that got in their way.  This went on for a few more minutes, Batman tightening his grip on the werewolf's neck all the while, until Lance did something very odd.  He dropped to all fours, rushing toward the stereo system on the opposite end of the room, and crashed right into it, giving three strangled barks, followed by one long, hair-raising howl.

"What the—" Riddler started to say, and just as one of Batman's arms slipped from around the furry neck, they heard music begin.

"But the sound system's not on!" Rook said in disbelief, shaking his head.  Riddler followed his gaze, and saw that there were indeed no lights on the machine whatsoever.

But still the music played.  It sounded Celtic, but neither of them could identify the instruments played, and it had a weird effect on them; they felt like they wanted to dance and attack something at the same time.  And it grew stronger and louder and faster, accompanied by another of Lance's howls.  He was struggling harder than ever to throw Batman from his back, and the music seemed to be empowering him to redouble his efforts.

"I knew the Pendragons think they're descended from the legendary Celtic king, but I didn't know they needed to surround themselves with it even in their music." Edward snorted, getting to his feet and readying his cane for another swing.

Something huge, dark, and heavy collided with him, roaring in savage fury as it pinned him to the floor.  But it wasn't Lancelot Pendragon; the werewolf was still throwing Batman around like a bull rider.  No, this creature was sleek, lithe, and had more of a catlike shape to it than he'd been expecting.  It glared down at him with angry yellow eyes, bearing sharp teeth and growling with suppressed rage.  His heart pounded and his throat went dry at the sight of it, and he slowly released his cane, letting it fall to the floor.

"Wise…choice." the man-cat growled, his mouth forming the words awkwardly as he released the Riddler and stood up.  He redirected his attention on the werewolf and the Batman, letting loose a  roar of challenge.

"Tygrus?!" Batman gasped, releasing Lance entirely.  The man-cat rushed forward and flung him away from the werewolf.  Suddenly the music began to swell, and Lance howled, charging right for the open window through which Batman had come.

"STOP HIM!" Batman roared at Rook and Riddler, as all three shakily got to their feet.

But they were too late.

Lancelot Pendragon leapt through the window, followed closely by Tygrus the man-cat.  Batman darted toward the window, looking out wildly, and the Riddler seized the opportunity to drag his gunman from the room, running away and hoping to head him off.

"Damn!  Who'd have thought he'd go kamikaze?" Rook muttered as the Riddler pulled him into the elevator, punching the button for the ground floor.

"I doubt he killed himself, even if he did jump from this height." Edward shot back, breathing heavily, trying to regain his composure.  "He's too smart for that."

"Is that admiration I hear?" Rook chuckled dryly.

"We're going to have to keep an eye on him."

"You ignored me.  Okay, fine.  But how the hell are we supposed to keep an eye on him if he's just going to up and disappear like that?"

"…We'll just have to keep an eye out _for_ him then."

"Riddly?"

"What is it this time, Robert?"

"If it helps at all, I think I know who's got Lancey's hands tied."

The Riddler whipped around, glaring at him, strands of his black hair flying about his face.  "What?!  Why didn't you say so before?"

"Whoa, whoa!  Relax a second!  It happened when I saw him transform the first time, when I called you.  We had been playing his grand piano together and this guy came in to talk to Lance.  Tall guy, pale, weighs probably ten pounds more than you—"

The Riddler rolled his eyes behind his mask.

"Dark hair done in a nerdy bowlcut, brown eyes, hooked nose, wears a lab coat.  Said his name was something like Martin…no, Milton…?" Rook frowned, screwing up his face in concentration as he tried to remember.

"Are you going to decide on a name yet?" Edward sighed in exasperation.

"MILO!" Rook shouted suddenly, making him jump.  "Lance called him Dr. Milo!  I'm dead positive!"

For a moment, Eddy remained silent, trying to think.  Milo?  Milo…something about the name was ringing a bell in his mind, but he couldn't quite put his thumb on what it was.

"Something about that name seems familiar…" he whispered out loud.  "But what?"

"…I'm guessing it's going to be digging time when we get back to the hideout?" Rook guessed with a sigh, checking the ammo in his guns.

"Yes…" the Riddler answered automatically, "We're going to dig up anything we can about this Dr. Milo."

"So what are we waiting for?" Rook asked as the doors slid open to the ground floor, but his boss caught him by the arm, shaking his head.

"There's a good possibility our cowled friend is still out there waiting for us."

"So now what?" Rook grumbled, pushing the button to shut the door.

"Dark and moist, like a demon's throat, with all the warmth of a screaming ghost.  Stone within and earth without, devouring all and expelling none, torches alone guide its scout.  What—?" the Riddler started to recite, and Rook groaned, pressing the button for the basement level.

"A dungeon, Riddly.  A dungeon."

***

She laid sprawled on the cot, staring at the ceiling, each heartbeat sounding louder and harder than the one before.  She glanced over at Ink, fast asleep in the cot on the opposite end of the room, the long strands of her blonde hair hanging in her face.  Guen smiled, feeling a little relieved.  At least one of them wasn't worrying about things to the point of paranoia.  She redirected her attention, looking over to her collection of items she'd 'attained,' and frowned.  Not too many days ago, Dr. Crane had said something about it…that it pertained to her namesake?  Curious and with little else to do, she got to her feet and tiptoed over to her little collection, squinting at it in the feeble light trickling in from the hallway through the crack in the door.  She picked up each piece gingerly, examining them all, seeking the connection.  There just had to be one.

Then she saw it.

Each piece…the jade vase…the little medieval chest…the sword; all of them bore dragons in their designs.  Her wings opened and fluttered a little as she realized what Crane had meant, and her feathers quivered as she laughed.  Her last name was Pen _dragon_ , and here she was stealing dragon-themed valuables.

_Ghost-themed stuff would make more sense_ , came the soft, snide remark at the back of her mind, and she froze, her wings going stiff.

_Hey, chillax hissy-prissy_ , Wraith's voice chuckled, as clear as if the other side of her was talking directly in her ear.   _I'm just throwing out my opinion._

_It's you_ , Guen thought, her heart pounding, _Your voice has been getting stronger and stronger all the time.  Why…?_

_You got me_ , Wraith answered, and Guen got the impression of a shrug, _You and I don't even know when I…began.  But I think the strain of things really started to get to you when the good doctor of fear took you hostage.  And the first time I actually came out_ …she broke off in a chuckle and the vase caught Guen's eye.

"Was when I took the vase." Guen whispered out loud.

Ink groaned and rolled over in her sleep, making Guen jump.

_Watch it, genius!_ Wraith snapped.

_Sorry!_ Guen returned mentally, feeling slightly meek at her other half's chiding, _I'm just…not used to this._

_Obviously_. came the snort.

_So…do you think it was just the sight of the dragon or…?  Maybe it's the connection to my—our name?_ Guen thought, more to herself this time, reaching out to stroke the head of the dragon engraved in the vase.

_What are you babbling about?_ Wraith sighed impatiently.

_Do you think…that our first switch was triggered just by the dragon?  Or maybe the dragon reminded you…me…us?  About my last name?  Maybe the dragon reminded me about something in my…our? Past._

Wraith was silent for a moment, then gently returned, _It's possible._

_Do_ you _know what happened all those years ago?_ Guen asked, puzzled.

_No more than you do._ Wraith answered. _I don't have access to memories that you shut off even to yourself._

That gave her some pause, and before she could come up with a suitable answer, her cell phone vibrated on the top of the cabinet, startling her.  She'd been ignoring it for a while now, only picking it up once or twice to erase missed calls and voicemails.   But this was a text message from a phone number she didn't know.  Out of sheer boredom, she opened it rather than just deleting it, and received a shock.

_'Hello, Guen Pendragon.  Or should I say…Wraith?'_

Her heart began to beat a frantic tattoo against her ribcage and she broke out in a cold sweat, the phone becoming slippery in her hands.  She couldn't even form a coherent thought, she was in so much shock.  Who in the world was this?  How had they found out about…?

_Whoa, whoa!  Calm down, chica_. Wraith said smoothly, and Guen's vision blurred slightly at the edges.  Was Wraith looking out through her eyes and reading the text?   _Text them back.  See what they want before you go freaking out._

_No…no way!  Not happening!_

_Fine then, you big baby!_ Wraith snapped.  Abruptly Guen felt that strange sensation of weightlessness, not too unlike floating, similar to how she felt when she ghosted, and realized that Wraith had taken control of their body.

Wraith, tossing her hair back, immediately sent a reply to the text.

_'Depends whos talking.  Whoz this?  What u want?'_

She hit the Send button and walked back to the cot, holding the phone tightly in her hands, waiting for a response.  For several minutes there was nothing but the soft sound of Ink breathing in her sleep.  Then the phone vibrated again with an incoming text and she opened it.

_'Can't answer the first question yet.  But I want to talk to you.  Meet me in the city in twenty minutes, in the alley behind the little grocery store you and the pile of straw were at before you pulled the stunt at the museum.'_

Wraith stared at this for a long moment, wondering, ignoring the protests Guen began to make once she'd read the text.  She glanced at the time on the phone and groaned, then replied, _'Do u have NE idea what time it is?!'_

She'd barely recovered from sending that, completely annoyed, when the reply came.

_'20 minutes.'_

Whoever it was, they weren't taking no for an answer.  Guen immediately began to protest, reminding Wraith about what they'd found out earlier in the evening, about what Eddy had said.

"Chill, girl.  What's the fun in life if you can't take a little risk every now and then?" Wraith said in a low, menacing chuckle, quickly switching into her outfit and pocketing her switchblade scythe.  She thought she heard Ink toss in her sleep again as she slipped from the room, but she ignored it, silently sneaking through the lab out to the parking garage and the T-bird.  In moments she was off, roaring back toward the little grocery store, her heart pounding with anticipation and curiosity.  She had a feeling, just the slightest inkling about this meeting, but she pushed it to the back of her mind.  She didn't want to start making assumptions and set herself up for disappointment.

She pulled up outside the store, turned off the car, and looked up and down the street before getting out, wishing she'd brought a jacket or something with her.  She had goosebumps all up her arms, and she had to fight to keep from rubbing them.  That was a pathetic tic of Guen's that indicated she was nervous.  And Wraith refused to appear nervous, not even after she noticed the other car on the street, cleverly parked between the buildings so it could barely be seen.  Taking a deep breath, she strode toward the alley between the store and its neighboring building, touching the handle of her scythe in her pocket for comfort.  There was next to no light, even with the street lamps nearby and the light above the side doors lit up.

_Whoever you are_ , she thought wryly, _You're smart._

"So you made it.  Just on time, too.  That's good.  I like that." came a voice.  She jumped, whirling in the direction it came from, drawing her scythe.

"Who are you?" she demanded, although she already had a pretty good idea.

"I think you know." came the reply.

She said nothing, but nodded, then realized they probably couldn't see her.  She tried a different tack.  "So why call me out here?"

There was silence, then, "I've been watching you, kid.  Second I saw the footage of your work with Jonathan Crane at the Gotham Conference Hall, you caught my attention.  You're a little shabby and predictable, but you've got real talent, rookie."

"Talent, huh?  Well, thanks for the compliment, but I don't think you called me here just to flatter me." she said, her grip on her scythe tightening.  She wasn't about to be caught off-guard, but she kept the weapon at her side to show her mysterious caller she wasn't about to get confrontational.

"You got that right." they said.  "You need work, kid.  I can see to it you get trained up right.  You won't have to be tied to old Johnny-boy any more, and you can still pretty much stay as you are.  But you'll be playing for higher stakes, with bigger payoffs.  No more of this petty science experiment crap."

She thought she could catch a glimpse of the person now that her eyes were better adjusted to the darkness.  She relaxed slightly at his words—for the voice alone gave away he was male—and thought for a moment.

"Seems like a pretty nice deal," she said slowly, "But I don't think I trust your motives."

"You shouldn't." he said, sounding amused.  "Among the Rogues Gallery, it's best not to trust anyone.  Not even yourself, kid."

His use of the kid was really starting to tick Wraith off, but she decided to try a different footing before lecturing him about it.

"So how do you benefit from offering me this?  What do you get out of it?" she asked, letting some of her suspicion give her voice an edge.  He didn't immediately answer, and she guessed that she caught him by surprise.   _Well, good!  He'd better get it in his head right now that I'm not stupid!_

He drew in a breath, possibly to answer, but without warning, a car horn honked behind her very loudly, and a flash of headlights nearly blinded her.  Wraith threw her arms up to cover her face, and wincing, tried to get a glimpse of the man.  However, the headlights were too bright, and he'd disappeared into his car and was off before she could really get a good look.

Snarling, she turned to the car that had interrupted her meeting, then relaxed when she saw Ink and Twitch approaching her.

"You two?  What are you doing here?" she whispered.

"I think the question is," Ink said, uncharacteristically angry, "What are _you_ doing here?  After that phone call from Rookie tonight, I would think that you would listen to Edward a little and stay put, where you're safe!"  The ink was flowing a little faster from her eye and Wraith thought she caught a glimpse of it starting to envelop her hands.

"S-s-sorry, Miss P-Pendragon." Twitch said softly, his hands making involuntary jerking motions, "B-b-but we we-w-were w-worried about y-you.  Miss Ink came an-and got me as s-s-soon as she n-noticed that you w-were leaving."

"I'm fine, guys.  I got a text message that called me here.  Someone wanted to meet me." Wraith said gently.

"Did it occur to you that it might have been your boogeyman?!" Ink demanded.

"I could have handled whatever was thrown at me." she said evasively, giving a nonchalant shrug.  She didn't want to admit it, but it had occurred to both Wraith and Guen that it could very well be her boogeyman who had texted them.  But something had told her that it was very unlikely to be him.  Wraith pegged it down to woman's intuition.

"You're not invincible, Guennie!  And the thing about ghosts is that they're usually dead!" Ink sighed, and this time, Wraith could hear the worry in her tone.  "You could have never come back."

At this, Wraith felt an insistent mental tug from Guen, urging her to let the softer side out.  Wraith sighed, then retreated back to her darker corners as Guen took over, and ducked her head, looking properly ashamed.

"I'm sorry, Ink.  I didn't think you were awake when I got it, so I didn't worry about concerning anyone." she said quietly, letting her scythe collapse back on itself, and she glanced up sheepishly.  "Will you forgive me?"

Ink was silent, staring at her for a long moment, then smiled gently.

"Just don't do it again." she said by way of answer.

"I-I-I'm sorry for interrupting, ladies.  But w-we should p-p-pr-probably head back to the l-lab," Twitch said, laying shaking hands on both of their shoulders, "W-we don't want to w-worry Professor Crane."

"Right, right!" Guen said with a sigh, "Thank you, Mr. Cutter."

"A-and I think y-you may have to drive on the wa-way back, I-Ink," he added, looking embarrassed, his hands shaking still more violently, "I d-don't want to r-run us off the road."

"That's okay, Twitch." Ink said as they headed toward the cars.  Just as Guen started up the T-bird, she caught the tail end of something Ink was saying to the assistant.

"…want to call her out to meet them at 2:22 in the morning?"

Ulysses Cutter made a very audible gulp and answered, "I-I think I kn-know…but I d-d-don't want to th-think about that!"

Guen shook her head.  No, it was just really early and she'd stayed up too late.

She was just hearing things, that was all.

Just hearing things.


	21. The Invitation

It had hit her sometime last night, hard enough to wake her from her fitful sleep. Ever since the night she had followed Logann Pendragon, May hadn't been able to go to bed without waking up sometime in the middle of the night, and it was during these intervals she found herself trying to recall what happened that she couldn't remember. The first time she'd remembered some kind of building, outside the city limits, that she and Magpie had followed Logann to. The second time, she remembered a room, and there was something significant about the walls, but she couldn't remember what. The third time she remembered a syringe and someone calling Pendragon "Lance." Every time afterwards, she simply went over those same three facts in her mind, unable to recall anything else about that night.

Now though, she'd woken from a dream, a dream in which she remembered a cruel, sadistic face, and as she sat wondering, the memory came flooding back to her. Pendragon—his name was Lancelot, not Logann—had met up with some professor named Achilles Milo, and Milo was a sick freak obsessed with Guen. To make matters worse, he had Lance drug them and bringing him photographs of Guen, which he plastered to the walls of a room in his hideaway.

"Oh, _God_!" May whimpered, nearly vomiting over the side of her bed. Thankfully, her stomach was empty, but nonetheless she felt repulsed to the point of being sick. Fighting the urge to heave, she staggered downstairs to the kitchen, fumbling in the cabinets until she found a glass. She was just pouring herself some water when Oswald flicked on the light, making them both squint and blink for a moment.

" _May_?" he asked in surprise, lowering his umbrella, "I thought some buffoonish burglar had broken in. What in heaven's name…? Are you alright?"

For she was trembling uncontrollably and had just managed to set her glass on the counter before collapsing to her knees.

"O-Oswald," she whispered, abandoning all pretense, "I-I-I remember what ha-happened…that night…It just came back to me."

The Penguin's eyes widened, the umbrella slipping from his hand to clatter to the tiled floor as she recounted the story for him. For several long moments afterwards, neither said anything, still too shocked to respond.

"What are we going to do? _Something_ has to be done!" May said, curling herself up into a ball, furious and frightened.

"You're right, my dear." he replied gently, "And something _will_ be done. The question, however, is what."

She wasn't sure how to answer, though she was reassured by his words. Instead, she cast about for something, anything, to distract her thoughts and her eye fell upon a calendar, on a date circled in bright red.

"Ohhh…and this Saturday's the Lounge's anniversary celebration." she groaned.

"The show—and business—" Oswald answered matter-of-factly, "Must go on. You'll forgive me for saying so."

Just then a wheel in May's head turned and clicked in the right spot, and a smile spread over her face.

"Actually, sir," she said slowly, "You're quite right. Though I do have one question concerning the anniversary celebration."

"And what might that be?"

"Can I invite a few friends?"

***

The envelope showed up Joker's doorstep with nary a word, addressed to Banshee. Stitches happened to see it first, lying there looking perfectly innocent, her associate's name written in beautiful handwriting. She inched forward and nudged it with her foot, jumping back hastily, expecting an explosion.

Nothing happened.

So maybe it wasn't a letter bomb.

Well, if that was the case…

She extracted the fragment of her butterfly razor from under her tongue, flicking it up into the air and catching it deftly between her index and middle fingers. She leaned down, warily picked up the envelope, and set the edge of the razor against the seal…

"Yo, Stitches! Where're ya at?"

She jumped, dropping the letter, and ducked behind a large jack-in-the-box prop as Banshee rounded the corner. The mocha-skinned girl looked around, frowning, hands resting on the grips of her Uzis, when she noticed the envelope lying on the ground. Her frown deepened as she picked it up and turned it over, then disappeared as she read her name and ripped the envelope open.

"Lounge…anniversary…Saturday…oooh, booze! Why, sure May!" she said with a grin as she read the invitation inside. Stitches watched her swagger off, looking far more pleased, and slowly came out of her hiding place.

If Banshee was going to this whatever it was at Pengy's place on Saturday, that meant Guen-Guen was almost sure to be there as well. Stitches grinned.

This was going to be too easy…

***

Edward Nygma was busy pouring over the data he and Rook had collected after escaping the Dragon's Blood, Inc. tower, on the verge of a breakthrough, of a connection of the pieces, when a commotion drew him out of his work.

"OY! GIVE THAT BACK, YOU BLOODY—"

"Make me, Cook!"

"IT'S MINE, GREENE!"

Edward sighed, rubbing his temples and praying for patience before storming into the adjacent room to confront his two employees.

"What is the meaning of all this nonsense, you two?!" he roared, and both immediately calmed down, Rook still holding an envelope high out of Magpie's reach.

"Greene's withholding my mail, sir." Magpie said sullenly, instantly submissive.

"Just a little joke, Riddly." the gunner chuckled nervously, lowering his arm and handing the envelope back to Magpie with a loathing glare.

"Knock it off, Robert. Leave her alone." the Riddler shot back, annoyed, and nodded to Magpie, indicating she could safely open her mail. She gave him a tiny smile and opened the invitation, quickly scanning it with her eyes.

"Bloody hell." the thief murmured.

"What? What is it, Vanessa?" the Riddler asked, coming over to stand behind her, making her face flush.

"I-it's an invitation, from May," she replied, holding it so he could see. "The Lounge's anniversary is this Saturday, and I've got a personal invitation to it."

Edward's eyes scanned the invitation quickly, his mind working at a rapid pace. The Lounge was likely to attract a huge crowd, especially if Cobblepot was going to be throwing a bash in celebration of the Lounge's anniversary. Aside from the regular crowd, it was a high possibility that Mr. Pendragon might resurface there, which meant Edward could finish getting answers out of the elusive werewolf. However, there was the added risk that the celebration would attract the attention of the Batman and Incubus. Still, there would be plenty of other riffraff attending; more likely than not, a brawl among the inferior minds would break out and that would hold the attention of the vigilantes long enough.

And if May Markowitz was inviting her friends, that meant that Guenhivyre would be likely to attend as well.

Edward's heart skipped a beat.

With all that had happened, he still hadn't told her how he felt. But if she attended the anniversary, and he could steal her away for a few minutes…

"How wonderful for you, Vanessa." he remarked distractedly.

"A-are you going to be coming too, sir?" she asked, and Rook's eyes flicked up, seeking those of his boss.

"Of course we are." the Riddler declared firmly, giving them both a grave nod.

***

Erin was busy preparing boiling water for tea and checking up on the scones in the oven when she heard the mail slot on the door clink.

"Jervis?" she called into the living room, "Could you get that?"

The Englishman had been busy fixing one of his mind control cards, but he rose from his work with a happy smile and strode to the door, stooping to pick up the mail that had fallen through the slot. A bit of junk mail, a bill or two…and an envelope with naught but his Erin's name on it. Puzzled, he brought it into the kitchen with a frown.

"Erin dear," he said slowly, holding the envelope out to her. She turned and smiled at him, then looked down at the mail and frowned.

"What's this, then?" she asked, taking it from him and tearing it open. The invitation slipped out and Jervis caught it before it could hit the floor, handing it up to her and planting a kiss on her forehead.

"Here you are, my dear." he remarked.

"Oh, you flatterer, you!" she giggled, eyes scanning the invitation. "Oh, it's from May! The Lounge is having its anniversary this Saturday, and she's invited to me to attend!"

"How frabjuous, my dear! We will, of course, be delighted to attend!"

"Certainly, Jervis!"

***

"Hey, Jonathan! Guennie! Look what we got!" Ink called, dashing in from getting the mail. She had a rolled-up coupon magazine in one hand and two elegant looking envelopes in the other, which she waved eagerly. Guen immediately froze when she saw them, looking a little nervous.

"Wh-what are they? There aren't any addresses, just our names." She said slowly.

"Just names?" Jonathan Crane asked, glancing up from a sheet of paper where he was busy writing down formulas. He frowned, adjusting his glasses on his face and peered at the envelopes. "Suspicious."

"Nah, it's cool!" Ink insisted, "May sent them!"

"How do you know it's her?" Guen asked, tentatively taking the envelope with her name on it.

"I know her handwriting by heart, silly!" Ink laughed, ripping the envelope open eagerly. Guen stared at her for a moment, wondering, and gently prised open her own letter, pulling out a small invitation. It wasn't anything overly flashy, but it was elegant in its own right, beautiful flowing white script on a black card.

"The Iceberg Lounge is having its anniversary this Saturday?" Guen said in surprise.

"Jon, look! We're invited!" Ink said, holding her invitation out to him and practically glowing.

"You mean, you two are invited." He remarked, scanning the card. "My name is nowhere on this."

Guen glanced down at the invitation, and cracked a smile, hitting on an idea. She felt Wraith stir in the back of her mind and give approval.

"It says here that we're each allowed to bring someone along as a date." She said in a rather off-hand way. "You could go with her."

Jonathan looked up so fast his glasses flew off his face, and Ink blushed a dark gray. "WHAT?!" they both squawked at once.

"You heard me. You could go as Ink's date." Guen said, letting a grin slowly spread over her face. "That way you have the guarantee that you can get in. Otherwise, you know…" She shrugged and spread her arms, "You can always just show up at the Lounge and take the chance your name isn't on the guest list."

Jonathan's eyebrows contracted into a sharp "V" above his eyes, and Ink clasped her hands, avoiding looking at him.

"Hey, I'm not saying you _have_ to do it." Guen pointed out. "Just that you should consider the idea."

"I-I have to go check on Twitch. He might n-need some more coffee!" Ink stammered, dashing from the room. Guen giggled as she watched her friend go, and then turned back to her boss. Jonathan Crane was retrieving his glasses from where they'd fallen, and he jammed them back onto his face with such force Guen was surprised he didn't punch both his eyes into his head.

"You need to learn to mind your own business, Miss Pendragon!" he snapped, striding past her and sweeping from the room.


	22. The Iceberg Lounge

The week flew by with an almost unnatural speed, and soon it was Saturday, hours away from the anniversary party.  Guenhivyre and Ink had taken up residence in the bathroom at the lab, much to the dismay of Jonathan and Twitch, who protested there was no point in 'feminine grooming' hours before the event.  Neither Ink nor Guen had any makeup on them—not even so much as a tube of lip gloss—but had decided early on they had no use for such things and disregarded using it.  Rather, they spent hours fussing over each other's outfits until they had finally decided on wearing their usual garb and simply doing up each others' hair.  Guen had managed to acquire a curling iron, which she used on Ink's long ponytail, while Ink brushed Guen's dark locks until they were sleek, and tried several different barrettes in her hair over and over.

"Any chance you two will finish up in there in the next, oh, I don't know, _ten seconds_?!" Jonathan griped at a quarter past five, just as he had every fifteen minutes since lunch.

"Soon," both girls answered automatically, used to the question by now, and they caught each other's eye, bursting into giggles.

" _Women_!" he snorted in exasperation.

"S-sir?" they heard Twitch's voice, slightly muffled through the closed door.  "Shouldn't y-you be getting r-ready t-too?"

"Oh!  You're right, Ulysses!  I nearly forgot!" they heard him answer before footsteps alerted them to both men walking away.

"Hey, I've gotta say," Ink said, removing one of the barrettes, "Thanks."

"For what?" Guen asked, pausing as she curled another long lock of blonde hair.

"For suggesting I bring Jonnie as my date." came the quiet reply, and Ink promptly blushed a dark purple-black, her mismatched eyes dropping to the floor.  There was a long silence in which neither of them spoke, and finally Guen set the curling iron on the sink and hugged her friend, no words being needed.

"You're always welcome, Ink." she answered.  "Now let's finish up and see if Dr. Crane's ready.  Goodness knows men take forever to get ready."

And they burst into giggles again.

***

A couple of the flyers had been scattered about, and several had blown into the street after having been blown by the wind from their place of origin, so securing one had been relatively easy.  A somewhat overly-flattering picture of the Penguin and a few of his employees had been drawn on the front, and embossed letters made the ad almost irresistible to look at.  It was, of course, advertising the anniversary bash for the Iceberg Lounge.

Milo wouldn't have taken notice of it, except for one of the girls whose likeness had been included in the drawing: Trick Deck, who'd been snooping around his lab with the pink-haired English girl.  Almost instantly he put two and two together.

Working or not, the girl would almost certainly be allowed to invite a few friends to the Lounge.  And considering her reaction to his…study, she would doubtless have invited Guenhivyre, no doubt thinking she would protect her. After all, the effects of the chemicals would have worn off by now, and she ought to remember him.

"Foolish." he said out loud, crumpling the paper in his hand as he smiled wickedly.  Stupid of the girl, thinking Guenhivyre would be untouchable anywhere, especially at the biggest nightclub the Rogues had access to.  They were making this almost too easy.  He rubbed the leather collar between his thumb and forefinger, savoring his inevitable victory.

Milo reached into his lab coat, pulling out his cell phone.  Four missed calls, all from Dorian, and he had no desire to respond.  Dorian could wait a little longer.  He immediately hit the speed dial, and after three rings, Lancelot Pendragon answered.

"You called, Professor?" he asked irritably.

"Where've you been, Lancelot?"

"That is none of your concern." came the growl.

"Of course not," Milo answered airily, hardly concerned with such details anyway, "I need you to do me a favor.  I'm going to need an outfit.  I'm going out tonight."

***

Finally it was six o'clock, and the doors of the Iceberg Lounge opened to admit the spectacular crowd that had assembled.  For a time, getting through the doors was chaotic; it seemed like all the mob and Rogues Gallery combined had shown up, and people outside were packed and squeezed against each other like a strange parody of sardines.  Overhead, on the roof of an apartment across the street, Batman scowled behind his binoculars, zooming in and out at different intervals, trying to get a good look at the crowd.  He wasn't entirely sure what he was looking for, only that he would know it when he saw it.

"Trouble yet?" came the question from behind him.  He didn't bother glancing over his shoulder to look at Logann Zeus; Robin was already lowering his own binoculars to do so.

"Gee, I don't know," he answered in a voice tinged with sarcasm, "The fact that Miss Markowitz seems to have invited a bunch of her girlfriends definitely doesn't fit the bill."

"If Trick Deck's inviting her friends," Incubus pointed out, "That means my sister's probably there too."

"Hmm." the Dark Knight gave a noncommittal grunt.

"Your vote of confidence is overwhelming, Batman," Incubus muttered dryly.

"Uh-oh." Robin blurted out abruptly.

"What?" both of the other men asked.

"Look right there, using the VIP entrance." Robin said, passing off his own binoculars to Incubus.

"…It's Ink." he said as he adjusted the lens.

"What in the world is she doing here?" Batman growled; neither of the young men answered.  It was simply safer to assume the question had been rhetorical.  The caped crusader looked again through the binoculars.  Sure enough, it was Ink.  And coming in behind her was—

"Pendragon."

"What?!" Incubus nearly yelped, looking through the binoculars again.  "It's Guen!"

"Hold your horses there sparky!" Robin stood and put a restraining hand on Incubus's shoulder.  "You can't just go charging in there!"

"You're assuming I was going to!" the other man growled.

"You would have.  But if you expect me to ever consider relying on you, you're first going to follow my lead." Batman growled, whipping about and staring Incubus down.

"Well then, O Wise and Learned One," Incubus muttered, crossing his arms defiantly, "What exactly do you suggest we do?"

***

Ink led the way through the crowd, until their little trio arrived in a larger, less crowded area, and she spotted the table where the rest of the girls were sitting.  Banshee saw them first and waved them over.

"HEEEEEYYYYYYY!"

"Hi, girls!  How is everyone?" Ink asked, receiving a hug from Magpie.

"We're fine," the pink-haired girl answered.  She cast a rather withering look upon Jonathan Crane and jerked her thumb behind her, indicating another table.  "Jervis and Eddy are already over there."

"I could see that for myself!" he snapped back, striding past them to join the other men.

"Was that really necessary, Mags?" Guen asked, putting a hand on Ink's shoulder.  "He was supposed to be her date tonight."

"Sorry, sweeties," Trick Deck said as she arrived with a tray of glasses in her hands, "But this is a ladies only table."  At Ink's crestfallen look, she added, "If you want though, no one's going to stop you from going over and sitting with the men for a bit."

Clearly torn, Ink kept looking from one table to the other, her cheeks a bright pink.

"Hey, relax a little," Banshee piped up, "Just go hang with them for a while.  After all, he's your date.  You can always come back later, you know.  You can hop back and forth when you feel like it; that's what Erin's been doing."

"I don't…" Ink started to say.

"Greene's over there too." Magpie muttered a little darkly.

"Well…okay.  Someone's got to stop him from getting drunk." Ink said, her cheeks darkening a shade and not fooling anyone.  The girls giggled amongst themselves as they watched her go.

"Lucky," they all sighed at once.

"Speaking of," Banshee remarked, "It's a good thing your creepy stalker hasn't shown up for a while, huh Guen?"

"Ugh," the winged girl muttered, shivering and rubbing her arms, "Don't remind me.  Last thing I want right now is to run into that guy again."

Trick Deck suddenly fumbled one of the glasses, just barely catching it before it could hit the floor and shatter.

"Yo, May, what was that about?" Banshee jumped.

"S-sorry.  Guess my hand's a bit more slippery than I thought." she answered evasively, pouring Magpie a vodkashake.  Guen frowned at her, but let the topic drop, as she wasn't too keen on thinking about such things.  She glanced over at the guy's table again, and spotted Eddy, making heat rise in her own cheeks.

"Hey, Guen, what're you getting all spacey about?" Banshee asked, waving her hand in front of her friend's face and startling her.

"Oh, uh, nothing!" she answered quickly, hoping they wouldn't have noticed.

"Well, it must have been _something_." Magpie said, taking a sip of the vodkashake, and Trick Deck gave Guen a pointed glare, causing her feathers to ruffle in nervous tension.

"Excuse me, ladies." Came the abrupt interruption, making them all jump.  Guen slowly rotated in her chair, looking up as the Riddler smiled at her.  "Would you object if I stole your friend away for a dance?"

"Not at all," Trick Deck answered lightly.

"If I may have this dance, Guenhivyre?" he asked, extending a hand to her.

"Er…sure." She managed to squeak, feeling her cheeks burn as she took his hand and let him lead her out on the dance floor.  Something semi-slow was playing; "Vanilla Twilight" by Owl City, if she didn't miss her guess.  She almost asked if they were going to slow dance to it, but he already locked one hand with hers and placed the other on her waist, beginning to lead.

"Sorry for the awkwardness back there," he said gently, "But I wanted the opportunity to talk to you alone."

"A-anything you have to say to me, Edward, you can—"

"No." he cut her off sharply.  "Not this.  This is personal, Guenhivyre."

Oh, it certainly felt like that.  Suddenly he seemed a little too close, the music a little too appropriate.  Part of her wanted to bolt, the other to stay where she was.  They rotated on the spot and began to move around the floor, somehow avoiding all the other dancing couples with ease.

"So…what do you have to talk to me about, Eddy?"

"What are your feelings toward Dr. Crane?" he asked, a little stiffly.

"Huh?  What does that have to do with anything?" she demanded.

"Everything!  Answer the question."

"Not until you explain to me why you're asking me that!"

"Don't be stubborn, Guenhivyre!  Just tell me!  It's a simple yes or no!"

"I'm not saying anything until you tell me why!" she shot back at him, digging her heels in and refusing to budge.  He tried to continue pulling her along, but when it became evident she wasn't willing to comply, the Riddler stopped, sighing.

"Guenhivyre…"

"Tell me why."

"Please, just answer, and _then_ I'll tell you."

"How do I know you'll keep your word?"

"Because it's _me_ , Guen.  What reason would I have to lie to you?" he spread his arms helplessly, and she considered for a moment.

"Okay, then.  He's like a teacher to me.  A mentor, I guess.  I used to have a crush on him at first, but I don't stand a chance in heck with him.  Ink does, so I want to help her take that chance and win.  Dr. Crane and I are better off staying friends." she explained with a sigh.  For some reason, it felt good to say that out loud.

"You…do you mean that?" Edward asked, touching one of her shoulders tenderly.

"Of course I do.  Why wouldn't I?" she asked, raising an eyebrow skeptically.  "Now what does my relationship with Dr. Crane have to do with what you want to talk to me about?"

"Guen, I—"

Abruptly the music changed, and someone called over the PA system, "Switch partners!"  And before he could finish his sentence, Guen found herself dragged away from the Riddler, his dark head disappearing amidst the crowd.

"Damn!" she hissed, feeling a bit of Wraith surge to the surface, barely registering the tap on her shoulder.  She whirled around, and for a moment, she thought she spotted Stitches among the crowd of dancers.

_That's odd.  What's Stitches doing here?_

But she barely had time to consider the matter further, as the insistent tap at her shoulder came again.  Annoyed, she turned to wave the person off.

"Look, sorry, but I don't feel like—"

"Oh, but I insist, _Guenhivyre Nimué Pendragon_."

That voice!

She looked at the person, hidden behind a featureless white mask, wearing a red ensemble complete with a fedora.  Had she not been scared witless, she would have made a joke that he was trying to pass himself off as a male Carmen San Diego, but she could barely find her voice to say anything at all.

"Surprised to see me?" he asked pleasantly, and she took a step back.

She almost fainted, but at last moment, she felt the weightless feeling of floating in her body again.

" _You_!" Wraith spat vehemently.

"Dance with me," the man said in steely tones.

"Not," she snarled, "If you were the last man alive on the face of the planet!"

"Do it," he snapped, "Or I'll see to it your little girlfriends are the first to try a new strain of plague."

"You're bluffing," she snorted.

"You think I'm playing?" he asked, stepping toward her, withdrawing an empty syringe from his coat, the needle point still dripping a viscous fluid.  "Dance with me!"

Snarling in frustration and outrage, Wraith seized one of his hands and gripped his shoulder as tight as she could, wishing it would break underneath her palm.

"That's more like it." he said, the smile hidden by his mask evident in his words.  "You've no idea how long I've wanted to do this."

"You're a sick freak." Wraith hissed, trying to crush his hand in her fist.

"You flatter me, my dear," he said with a dark chuckle, "Hmm, someone's violent tonight."

"What the hell do you want?" she demanded, trying to ram him against the edge of a table as they spun.

"I think you know, Guenhivyre." he answered quietly.

"The name," she growled, gripping his collar and slamming him against a pillar, "is Wraith!"

Like a spark to a powder keg, this one action seemed to set off several things at once.

The man growled out words under her grip, and something tackled her sidelong, sending her sprawling to the floor, making the Lounge's guests scatter and scream.  She tried struggling to her feet, but then something rammed her from the other side as well.  She heard the girls screaming her name, and through blurred vision, she saw a four-legged, sleek black beast rush toward her, followed by her friends.  Something else black suddenly obscured her vision, and a hot, sharp pain erupted in her shoulder.  Wincing, Wraith touched the skin and drew her hands away, red and wet with blood.  Stunned, she looked in the direction she'd felt it come from, and received a puzzling shock.

"Stitches?" she gasped, watching as the little harlequin gave her a grin displaying all of her jagged, filed teeth, holding her broken straight-razor before her, blood dripping off the silver edge.

_My blood_ , she thought.

The black blur before her roared, and they both jumped, turning to see two huge black beasts struggling with each other.  After a second, Wraith realized she recognized one of them.

"Ink!" she cried.

Then something gray-black scooped her up in powerful, soft arms, nearly crushing her in its grip.

"Sleep…Little Bird." purred a soft voice.

It sounded so familiar…like a lost memory.

And then her vision went black and she knew no more.


	23. Captives In The House Of Dorian

The first thing that indicated she hadn't died was an intense, throbbing pain in her skull, burning like fire across her head like some kind of a comet. Groaning, Wraith struggled to sit up, tried to blink her eyes.

"What…the hell…happened?" she managed to get out through gritted teeth.

"Guennie! Are you okay?" she heard a voice ask, and she forced her eyes open, blinking in the dark room.

"Ink!" she gasped, trying to sit further up. "You're here too?"

"They got both of us." came the grim reply.

"You mean all three of us." said a surly, bitter voice somewhere a little further away.

"Shut up, you!" Ink snapped, and Wraith's eyes had adjusted enough by now she could see the blonde girl's silhouette in the darkness. "You keep away from her! Guennie didn't do anything to you!"

"Stitches?" Wraith asked tentatively.

"No, I'm Santa Claus," the harlequin spat sarcastically.

"And _I'm_ Gandhi," Wraith spat back, "What the hell was that cut for, anyway? What did I ever do to you?"

"Sorry, Guen-Guen," Stitches answered, not sounding sorry in the least, "Boss's orders. You've gotta die."

"I'd like a word with your 'boss', missy." Ink growled.

"Joker," Wraith offered, "Her boss is the Joker."

"The one and only!" Stitches said with a hint of pride, "Banshee's been getting too attached to you, boss says. That means you've gotta go, so she learns the lesson. Nothing personal."

"Are you serious?" Ink asked in disgust.

"Yyyyyup. Now just hold still for a few minutes, and when I get out of these stupid ropes, I can come over there and kill you."

"Great," Wraith muttered sarcastically, "That's just what I need to end my day."

With that, all three of the girls fell silent, Ink and Wraith huddling close to each other, Stitches somewhere further away in the room, the only sound being that of her struggles to free herself. At one point Wraith realized there was a door, if only because the light filtering in from under the crack was suddenly blocked out. She tensed, figuring it was her boogeyman—who else could it be?—but then the thing blocking the light wriggled and writhed and slipped under the crack, thin as paper, and she realized it was one of Ink's ink-bats. The little creature scurried over to her and disappeared in the darkness. For an instant, Wraith pondered asking Ink what the creature was doing, but then the blonde girl leaned a little closer, sighing in relief.

"Help is on the way." she whispered, just low enough that Stitches couldn't hear. For a moment, all was still, and then the door began to slowly creak inward, making all of them jump.

"I think someone spotted your little friend." Wraith whispered to Ink.

A huge, towering figure took up most of the doorframe, blocking out the light. Two yellow eyes with slitted pupils gazed in at them, then the figure crouched down and entered the room, allowing more light to flood in. He was covered in beautiful gray-black fur, from his head to the tip of his long tail, and two ears rose up on either side of his head, quivering in time with his sniffing black nose. He slowly wove his way toward Wraith, making them all tense, but he didn't seem like he was there to attack them. Tentatively, he reached out a huge, paw-like hand toward Wraith, but stopped short of touching her face. Rather, he indicated her shoulder, which, she was surprised to find, had been wrapped in a gauze bandage.

"Your wound…does it hurt?" he asked gently. For a second, Wraith considered kicking out at him, but something about the man-cat struck a chord in her memory, and she could feel Guen weakly tell her there was something about the strange creature that seemed familiar, that he was safe.

"Not really." she answered. Then, "Where are we? Will you tell us? Who are you, anyway? You seem familiar."

"I do not know…the name of this place…but we are in a laboratory." he replied, "My name…is Tygrus. Do you…remember me, Little Bird?"

"Vaguely." she answered, feeling a little ashamed for admitting so.

"Thou ought to!" came a sharp voice. "After all, Tygrus was at times allowed to play with us as children."

"YOU!" Wraith snarled as Lancelot Pendragon entered the room. "You've got some talking to do, _brother_! First you don't tell me you're a werewolf, and now I find out you helped my boogeyman kidnap me and my friends! What the hell is your deal?!"

"I have had no choice." Lance answered in a mournful voice.

"This is true." Tygrus confirmed, and all three girls looked at him in astonishment. "You…and your brothers…you have microchips in your brains…operated by voice command…he was ordered to bring you here alive."

"No choice in the matter whatsoever." Lance said quietly.

"Microchips?" Ink gasped.

"You're kidding me, right?" Stitches said, rolling her eyes.

"Not in the least," Lance shook his head, "Guenhivyre, Logann Zeus, and myself. All three of us were used in a genetic experiment as children, resulting in our mutations. I was given the first dosage of a formula developed as a means of creating werewolves from scratch, so to speak. Logann Zeus had a Komodo dragon's tail grafted onto him, and was given several injections of the animal's blood, to better help him adapt and become lizard-like. And Guenhivyre was injected with—"

"Bird cells." Wraith finished, flexing her wings, recalling what the Penguin had said before.

"Not just any bird cells. Raptor. The harpy eagle, nearing endangerment. And your harpy eagle donor had a distinct blue coloration. Rare, as far as natural mutations go." Lance pointed out. "But your wings didn't surface until after you had escaped."

Wraith frowned at him. Escaped? Drawing on their shared memories, she remembered when the wings first surfaced. It had been painful for Guen, when they had finally broken the buds and skin. She'd been left with two strange new limbs she couldn't quite understand, a bloody mess to clean up, and unanswered questions of how this mutation had happened. But an escape…?

"Lance, what are you talking about?" she asked, a pit of dread welling up inside her that she quickly clamped down on. She refused to give into her fear; she wasn't Guenhivyre Pendragon. She was Wraith, understudy to the Scarecrow. Fear had no power over her!

"Of course, Zeus would not see fit to tell you!" Lance growled. "When you were about eight years old, you were nearly raped. Your wings had begun developing when you were six and a half years old, but something about your DNA had always adapted to the raptor cells at a slower pace, so they weren't showing. The scientist in charge of you, Professor Achilles Milo, had—has—a fetish for wings. One day he snapped, tired of waiting for your wings to surface. He'd been drinking when we found him in one of the laboratories, with the fragments of a chair laying all over and a knot on his head. You, Logann Zeus, and Dr. Kirk Langstrom had all disappeared."

The memories came flooding back all at once, nearly too much to take in, and her wings went through their most painful growth spurt yet. She felt as though someone had taken the end of an iron rod and was striking it against her spine, forcing her back to arch as the hollow bones expanded with a great, cracking force, making her scream and clutch her head in pain.

"Guennie, your wings!" she heard Ink cry.

"Holy shit!" Stitches yelped.

"Guenhivyre, calm yourself!" Lancelot ordered, gentle but firm.

But it was so hard to…

"You shouldn't have told her that all at once!" Ink cried at Lance, black fluid writhing from both her eyes in fury. "That was too much!"

"If any of you intend to get out of here alive," Lance intoned quietly, "Then you need to know just what you're up against. This is no time to sugar-coat anything you are told!"

"Little Bird," Tygrus purred softly, his words cutting through the pain, "Rest easy."

The pain began to subside to a dull ache, and Wraith flexed her wings weakly as the last of the new feathers slid into place.

Easy for Tygrus to say. Now her boogeyman had a name. He just needed—

"What the hell is going on here?" demanded a cold voice, a new figure stepping into the room.

A face.

A tall thin man, Professor Milo had a hooked nose, sallow skin, and pitiless dark eyes. Humorless as the situation was, all Wraith could think of was that the man looked like Professor Snape with a bowlcut and a lab coat. She tried to scoot back as inconspicuously as possible, but at the last second, her wings rustled, and those black eyes snapped onto her faster than they should have been able to.

"Guenhivyre." Milo breathed her name with a tone bordering on reverence, and his thin lips parted to reveal his teeth in an ugly sneer. Lance and Tygrus both turned to him and growled deep in their chests, but Ink got there first. She'd not calmed down when Lance had said to, and now the ink had flowed completely over her body again, encasing her until she once more resembled the dog-like beast Wraith had seen previously. She leapt without warning, catching them all off guard, and tackled Milo, biting down hard on his arm. He gave a cry of alarm and pain, struggling to dislodge the beast Ink in vain, and Stitches took the moment to finish breaking free of her bonds and tackle Wraith.

"Time to die, Guen-Guen!" she said in a cheery voice, and Wraith growled in response, curling up her legs and kicking out, catching Stitches in the stomach. Both girls went rolling and tumbling head over heels, Stitches yowling like a wounded cat and swiping out with her broken straight razor, Wraith kicking and pulling at her opponent's hair in fury as she tried to throw her off. They tussled for only a few seconds, until two long tendrils of ink shot out and forced them apart, one pushing Wraith back, the other pinning Stitches to the floor and wrapping around like ropes. Wraith looked over at Ink in astonishment, only to find she was still in beast form, raking at Milo with her claws as he tried to scramble away.

"GET OFF OF ME!" the scientist screamed, trying to kick at her. "Lancelot, help!"

Lance's limbs jerked, like he was the puppet on the end of strings, and scowling, he rose to his feet clumsily and began stalking toward them.

_So that's what he meant when he said he had no choice!_ Wraith thought.

_The microchips must be linked to our motor functions or something!_ she heard Guen agree with her, somewhere at the back of her mind. Determined not to let her elder brother be a pawn, she surged to her own feet and ran at him, intending to tackle him sidelong, as he had done to her.

Sadly, it didn't quite work out as she'd hoped. Whether it was attributed to his lycanthropy or simply his natural frame, Lance barely budged when she threw her entire body weight against him. It was like trying to tackle an overfilled bookcase: pointless, and a little painful. Wraith sank to the floor with a groan, rubbing her collarbone as it throbbed sorely.

"What have you been putting in the old cereal, dude?" she gasped, and he paused to look at her in astonishment.

"Did you really just try to run me over?" he asked in mild amusement.

"Now's not the time to be impressed, Lancelot!" Milo screamed as Ink grabbed his ankle in her jaw and began dragging him back for another beating. Lance rolled his eyes, moving again toward them, and Wraith found herself restrained by Tygrus.

"He is…a brother to me too. I can't let you hurt him." the man-cat told her firmly as she thrashed in his grip. For a few moments more, everyone continued to struggle: Wraith against the grip of Tygrus, Stitches against the ink-ropes, and Ink now against not only Milo, but Lance, who calmly attempted to pick her up off of the scientist's back as though she were a sack of flour, albeit one with teeth and claws and flailing limbs. Then footsteps echoed down the hall, and a new figure appeared silhouetted in the doorway. Suddenly, lights flicked on, nearly blinding them all, and they saw a tall, older man in a white outfit with graying red hair and age lines on his face that gave him a slightly cat-like appearance.

"What in the world do you all think you're doing?" he asked them in a soothing British accent. His voice was like honey, and for some reason, Wraith and Ink found themselves relaxing at the sound of it. Lance and Tygrus both looked up at the man and moved to him, releasing the girls, and even Milo and Stitches stared at him silently.

"Our deepest apologies, Emile. It seems we did not bind them properly." Lancelot said in a truly regretful voice. The redheaded man sniffed, shooting Milo a disdainful glare.

"That is no fault of yours, my boy." he answered gently, placing a patronly hand on the young man's shoulder. "It appears that some of us—" here Milo glared at him, but went ignored—"underestimated these young ladies." He stepped further into the room, and his eyes darted from Wraith to Ink and back again. "Extraordinary," he stated, "But then, the young idiot here always said you were, Guenhivyre Pendragon."

Wraith opened her mouth to protest, but he started to talk over her, and she found she simply couldn't interrupt.

"My name is Emile Dorian. Doubtless, you remember me by now. Truly extraordinary to see you with wings. No wonder Achilles is so keen on reclaiming you."

"Shut it, Dorian!" Milo hissed, shakily getting to his feet. Ink snarled at him, snapping at his ankles, and he barely managed to dodge in time. Immediately Dorian's eyes snapped onto Ink, who was so startled she began to change back, the ink retreating from her form as she blinked up at the doctor, presently confused.

"You however, my dear, are marvelous! Endlessly fascinating! I should like to know exactly how it is you came to be the way you are." Dorian said in a kind voice, but there was an evil glint in his eyes that neither girl missed.

"Sorry," Ink replied in steely tones, "Afraid I can't help you there. I can't remember anything before waking up and finding myself like this."

"More's the pity." Dorian said with a sigh. A sudden muffled curse made them all jump and they stared back at Stitches, who was struggling to loosen the ink-ropes, but to no avail.

"Don't see why you had to drag _that_ along." Milo muttered in disgust, shooting a glare at Tygrus, who growled back in challenge. Stitches immediately began to scream obscenities at him, but they went largely unheard, as the ink had bound her mouth too.

"And who would that be?" Dorian asked curiously.

"Another of the Joker's demented harem girls." Milo spat in response.

"Why _did_ you bring her, Tygrus?" Dorian turned to the man-cat.

"She was trying…to hurt Little Bird." he answered, spreading his paw-like hands helplessly. "She kept chasing us…so I knocked her out. I couldn't just…leave her in the middle of the road."

"Good lad, Tygrus." Dorian said fondly, "Now I must ask that you boys bring these young ladies along with us to the laboratory. There is work to be done."

Lance and the man-cat nodded, turning to Ink and Wraith.

"What makes you think we're going to just come along willingly?" Wraith demanded, clenching her fists and pulling Ink to her feet.

"Because my dear," Dorian answered, "Quite frankly, you don't have a choice."

***

Almost the moment that the pandemonium had broken out in the Iceberg Lounge, the three vigilantes were upon it, bursting inside.

But they still arrived too late to stop the man in the red trenchcoat from making his exit, with Tygrus and Lance on his heels, three prone forms their prizes.

Batman had spotted them first, but with the panicked crowd that had formed at the appearance of the werewolf, he and his younger partners had a time of trying to pick their way through without injuring anyone. And by the time they arrived, all they had to go on was a cracked, featureless mask that had been left behind in the perpetrator's wake and a trail of black ink. Incubus had roared in rage, pounding his fists so hard on a table that it cracked down the middle.

"I do hope you're intending to pay for that," squawked an irritated voice as the Penguin came up to them.

Batman, who'd been examining the mask, tossed it to Robin. "Pocket that," he growled, "If the computer can locate its origin, we may get a clue as to where they went." He rounded on the Penguin at once, his looming form towering over the dwarf. "I don't suppose you actually saw who did this?"

"No more or less than what your own eyes perceived, my cowled friend," Oswald shot back in irritation. Batman glared at him a second longer, making him sweat, before he turned to the table of young female rogues-in-training. Erin Knightly had joined them, on the verge of tears despite Jervis Tetch's proximity. Trick Deck had buried her face in her hands, with Magpie and Banshee on either side of her, rubbing her shoulders and talking to her gently. He swooped down on them at once, regardless of whatever was bothering the girls.

"You'd better start talking, Markowitz." he declared, crossing his arms impatiently. "Which of your friends did they cart off?"

"Hey, knock it off, Batsy!" Banshee snapped.

"Lay off, Yank!" Magpie added, "Can't you see she feels bad about it enough?"

"Who did they take?" he repeated, with a touch more steel this time.

"Stitches…Ink…" she murmured, then added even more quietly, "And Guen."

"Aw, great! That's just peachy!" Incubus muttered, seething.

"What were you thinking, Markowitz? Didn't you know Achilles Milo was after Miss Pendragon?" Batman growled, amazed at the lack of foresight on her part.

"Of course I did!" she snapped, slamming her hands down on the table, "Why do you think I practically put up a big neon sign that I was inviting my friends to the party?! I was trying to set up a trap for that creeper!"

"It failed." Batman declared, an edge of patronizing hinted in his tone.

"You think I don't know that?!" she cried in exasperation. "We had instructed the bouncers to check at the door for him!"

Batman thought back to who he'd spotted guarding one of the doors: a younger man with green spiky hair, piercings, and a rather bored expression as he'd sat fiddling with a Rubik's cube. He could almost hear the young man's defensive monotone saying, "Well how was I supposed to know? He was in disguise. No one told me I had to go probing behind every mask I see." Batman groaned inwardly; he wasn't sure how well the Riddler would take the news once he found out one of his henchmen had been the one to let Milo slip by and spirit away his friend.

_And speak of the devil_ , he thought in annoyance when he saw the green and black as the Riddler came rushing up toward the table.

"That does it," Edward Nygma declared, pointing his question-mark cane at Batman, "Every fox needs hounds, and as they say, the more the _scarier_."

"What the hell is he talking about?" Incubus demanded as he and Robin came up behind Batman.

"You're not coming with us, Nygma." Batman rumbled.

"But I insist!" the Riddler hissed, eyes narrowing behind his domino mask. "After all, Lancelot Pendragon did have me in his pay. And now I intend to find out just what is happening to Guenhivyre."

"I'm coming too!" Trick Deck piped up. "After all, it's my fault this happened."

"Count me in," Magpie said, hands on her hips, "Those are our friends out there."

"You're going to need me too, Batsy." Banshee added, drawing both her Uzis and looking unusually serious. "If you get my drift."

"I'm not taking all of you. It's too risky." Batman snapped, slicing his hand through the air in a gesture that brooked no argument.

"Hey, think about it, Bats. We could use the help," Incubus piped up.

"They just want to find their friends. And we can't exactly take down a werewolf and a man-cat by ourselves, just us three." Robin pointed out. "Don't you always say, 'keep your friends close and your enemies closer?'"

"I've never said that to you, ever." Batman answered dryly. He examined the rogues around him for a moment, then said rather quietly, "You'd have to get your own car. I don't have enough room in the Batmobile."

"Oh, that's okay!" Erin said with a sniffle, wiping tears away from her eyes as she pulled a set of keys with a Dormouse decal from her apron and beamed. "Jervis and I brought ours!"

***

Dorian had led them to an adjacent room down a long hallway, dimly lit by flickering lights of poor quality. Lance walked alongside Wraith, his face as impassive and stone-like as ever, and refused to speak whenever she tried interrogating him. Ink, still serious, was trudging next to Tygrus, who continued to stare at her every now and then, as though trying to figure her out. Stitches squirmed in his arms, still occasionally screaming obscenities under her ink-gag. Professor Milo brought up the rear, and Wraith could feel his eyes on her the entire time, making her wings hunch uncomfortably on her back. Once inside the laboratory room, Milo shut and locked the door behind them, and when she turned to look, his blazing dark eyes bored into her with mixed emotions she couldn't read. She saw hatred in there, definitely, along with lust and…quite possibly, (unless of course, she was just imagining it,) just a tinge of fear.

She could use that.

"So kind of you to oblige willingly." Dorian remarked to them all as he began to fuss about with some instruments on his table, seeming to search for something.

"What do you intend to do?" Ink asked, crossing her arms.

"For the time being," Dorian replied, turning with a blunt scalpel and glass plate in hand, "I should like to take a sample of your ink, my dear. It will give me something to examine until Logann Zeus arrives."

"Logann?" Wraith blurted out, startled, "Why would he come here? Why would you want him to?!"

"He simply will. After all, you're his sister as well. No offense intended, Lance my boy." he said with a slow nod to the werewolf, who merely curled his lip in reply.

"And when he does, what are you going to do to him?" she asked, trying to force herself to relax.

"Simply put him through enough pain that it calls our dear old companion Langstrom here." Milo offered in his cold, pitiless voice.

"Langstrom?" Ink asked, glaring from Milo to Dorian and back again.

"Yes," the younger scientist answered, his eyes locking with Wraith's again. "You see, I want him dead. I sent Lancelot here to go finish him off, but it appears that Dorian overrode my commands."

"He was linked to my voice commands first, Achilles." Dorian said with an impatient huff. "No amount of hacking the technology will give you the advantage I have. And I'm sure your innate fear of werewolves helps little."

"Sh-shut up!" Milo yelled, rounding on the older scientist, who only smiled at him, and Lance was between them in a second, shielding the older man with his huge frame.

"If I may, my dear?" Dorian went on casually, approaching Ink. The blonde girl glared at him, wiped a bit of the ink from her eye, and flicked it onto the glass plate. He stared at it in surprise for a moment, then shrugged. "Well, that's one way of doing it, I suppose. Achilles, if you will? After all, chemistry is _your_ strong point."

Milo swiped the glass from his hand with a feral snarl and stomped away, shooting one last look at Wraith as he went, leaving her to repress a shudder. Once the door was shut, Ink turned to Dorian, giving Wraith a concerned look, then asked the question that was on both their minds.

"So if Guen and Lance and Logann all have microchips in their brains that are activated by voice command, what do you and Milo and Langstrom have to do with this?" she demanded.

"The three of us," Dorian started with a sigh, as though about to recount a long story to a youngster, "Were originally part of a project begun by Roland Daggett over 15 years ago, with the purpose of creating mutants capable of being used as weapons in war, each controlled by voice command technology implanted in their brains. The only downfall was the if the commander was killed, the technology would force the mutant's brain into immediate shut down. That is how deep the link goes. The adults didn't adapt so well to the technology, as they already had a sense of identity and a will of their own. The children in turn, took to the technology easily but their mutations often would not surface as soon as we hoped, if at all. You were among the latter, it would appear, Miss Pendragon."

Wraith gritted her teeth together, her wings ruffling. She didn't like where this was going.

"As for how we fit in with the three of you," Dorian continued, "We each chose you for our personal projects. Langstrom chose young Logann Zeus, I, Lancelot, and Milo…you. Of course, he took a special interest in you beyond what was appropriate, owing to his little wings fetish, and took it upon himself to tweak the commands of your neurochip. He now controls more than just your motor functions, my dear. He can now control your sexual arousal with a mere word, as was his plan from the beginning, so you would be his."

Wraith felt her insides grow cold, and she felt a sudden surge of affection for her friends when Ink made a face and Stitches gave an audible groan of disgust from under the gag. Sharing Guen's memories had shed light on that incident so long ago, when Milo had tried raping her, but to think he had such a hold on her! Suddenly she hated him all the more.

"And what's so important about Langstrom in this?" Ink pressed.

Dorian looked at them seriously, his face grave.

"Milo wanted to kill Kirk for the same reason I wanted Lance to leave him alive. He holds a vital piece of information connected to the six of us."

And his blue eyes locked with Wraith's green ones.

"Kirk Langstrom, and Kirk Langstrom alone, knows the vocal command password to deactivate the neurochips without killing you three."


	24. The Aftermath

Two little ink-creatures had arrived at the Lounge almost an hour later, shortly before the odd, mismatched group could leave.  Both Batman and Robin had recognized them at once; Ink's little messengers she used when she was in trouble.  The Scarecrow had joined them by this point in time, and upon seeing him, the creatures began to go wild with excitement.  The Scarecrow didn't seem to think anything unusual about this in the least, and produced a sheet of blank paper for them.  One of the creatures immediately began to scratch at the paper, writing out Ink's message about where they had disappeared to.  She hadn't been able to give an exact location but was planning on leaving one of her little ink-friends with them, to help show them the way.

"Tell Ink that we're coming for her." Batman had said to the other creature.  He cast a look at the rest of his bizarre rescue party and added, "All of us."

It blinked once, to show it understood, and immediately took off at a faster speed than any of them could have imagined, no doubt returning to the girls.

The sight of this, more than anything, prompted him to move.

It went against his instincts, partially, to just act without making the decision.  But whoever those freaks had been, they took the kid with them, along with her two friends.  Part of him honestly felt as though it wasn't worth the trouble.  The other part still felt a sense of duty, and a strong attachment to the girl, considering how much like him she was.  So when the little black blur took off—the Ink girl's pet, doubtless—he followed.

He'd worry about choices when it came time to decide whether or not to help.

***

The information Dorian had left her with an hour ago was almost too much to take in.

 _Langstrom_ was the one who could free her and her brothers?

Well, considering how much Logann seemed to respect the man, it seemed appropriate in a way.  
On the other hand, Wraith wasn't too keen on the thought she might end up owing her life to the same scientist who'd been dangerous enough to turn himself into the Man-Bat, despite his recession from being a monster.  Left with almost too much to ponder in such a short amount of time, Wraith had decided to try pushing her limits with Dorian and declared promptly that she was going to walk around the laboratory.  The scientist, much to her surprise, didn't seem fazed in the least at this, and told her she was perfectly allowed to do so.  He had taken to pestering Ink with questions and occasionally throwing calculating glances in Stitches's direction, as though wondering what she would look like as a mutant.  Despite her earlier attempts at killing her, Wraith suddenly found herself cheering on the idea of Stitches getting out of Ink's ropes and taking a lunge at Dorian.

The hallways seemed to close in on her here and there, and she couldn't find any unlocked rooms with open windows she could consider using for an escape.  Growling in frustration and worrying for her friend and—what was Stitches to her now?  A friend or an enemy?  Both, perhaps?  A frenemy?  Wraith wasn't sure that was a word, but as far as things went, given the circumstances, she was making it one.  She resigned herself to simply exploring as much of the place as she was able, in order to get a feel of the layout and find a possible escape route for her and the others.

She took a left-hand hall to a door leading out onto a catwalk that hung suspended above a vast room filled with vegetation and stone columns, like something out of a Tomb Raider game.  The air was a great deal warmer here and she could hear wildlife sounds like birds and frogs all around.  She'd had no idea anything like this was being hidden in the place, and found herself shocked to see this…paddock, if her guess was right.  Wings rustling with a mix of excitement and curiosity, Wraith walked up to the edge and peeked out over the handrail, trying to see the floor far below.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you." came a cold voice that she now knew more than she had wanted to.  She glanced up to the far end of the catwalk, where Milo was coming through an adjacent door, wrapping the glass plate with the ink in a handkerchief and pocketing it.

"Oh?" she demanded coldly, "And why would that be, you sick freak?"

"You could fall," he answered simply, not sounding too concerned, "This is Tygrus's training area."

"If you hadn't noticed," she spat, "the man-cat calls me 'Little Bird,' and he's got some weird bond going on with my older brother.  I'm not too worried about falling if he's down there."

"Ah, yes, that's right.  Dorian's little test-tube pseudo-son.  I'd forgotten how much that disgusting furball had liked playing with you when the bunch of you were kids." Milo hissed as he came closer.  Wraith's grip on the railing tightened as he came closer, and she ruffled her feathers, puffing them up out of instinct.

Yet somehow, despite the glare and the bowlcut, there was something attractive about the man, in a rugged Professor Snape kind of way.

Immediately she felt Guen at the back of her mind rise up and start to battle that feeling.

_Have you forgotten what he tried to do to me?  To us?!  That's his technology working on us, toying with our instincts and emotions!_

_You think I don't know that?!_ Wraith shot back, annoyed.  It wasn't as if she could exactly control those thoughts from just popping into her head.

"Is something wrong, Guenhivyre?" Milo asked quietly, making her jump when she realized how close he'd gotten, just three feet away, dark eyes blazing.

"The name," she growled, balling her fists, "is Wraith.  Guen's given me the reins for the time being, so if you want her, tough cookies."

Milo rolled his eyes.  "Good lord, I don't deserve to put up with this." he muttered to himself.

"If you deserve anything, it's getting your cock ripped off for what you did to Guen and I when we were just a kid!" Wraith roared, seizing the front of his lab coat and slamming him against the handrail with enough force she made the catwalk actually wobble.  "You tried to rape Guen!"

At this, Milo winced, looking like he'd just had to eat more sour food in that second than he ever had before in his life.

"I was younger," he murmured, "And drunk and stupid."

"Don't try feeding me that bullcrap, you asshole!" she spat, drawing back one of her fists and driving it against his hooked nose as hard as she could.  She heard the splintering crack and watched in satisfaction as blood began to pour from his nostrils.  "Dorian told me all about your gross little "wings" fetish.  You sick monster!"

"Don't suppose…saying sorry…would help?" the scientist gulped, pulling a second handkerchief from one of the pockets of his lab coat and pressing it to his bloody, broken nose.

"And I don't suppose it goes without saying that you're an idiot." Wraith hissed, releasing his coat and letting him slowly slide down against the railing of the catwalk.

"Doesn't mean I warrant having my c—"

"Oh, no?  Just see if I don't make Stitches do it!  Bet she'd get a kick out of it." Wraith said, ending in a maniac chuckle as she leered down at the small man who, for several years, had haunted Guen's nightmares.  Funny, really.  He didn't seem so menacing any more.  It was only after she considered this that she suddenly felt a strange weight around her neck and glanced down.

Her collar!  When had he put it back on her?!

Not only was it her collar, but now there was a tag on the ring, like a dog tag, and it seemed to resemble one of—

"The Mad Hatter's mind control cards?!  What the hell is this, you sicko?"

"Can't control you," Milo muttered darkly.  "You're a different personality.  An almost entirely separate mindset from my Guenhivyre.  So I'm trying this to see if it works."

Fury bubbled up in her, overriding everything, and she drove her foot into his stomach, making him gag and choke, clutching his sides with pain.

"Achilles!"  Dorian's enchanting voice came over a hidden PA system, almost making her jump, "Could you come here for a moment?"

Slowly Milo pushed himself to his feet, glaring at Wraith the entire time, his dark eyes blazing with hatred, and he silently swept past her back the way she'd come from.  Glaring daggers at his back, she followed, and they returned to the laboratory where Dorian stood waiting next to an array of monitors, presumably all linked to different cameras in the building.  He pointed out one in particular, where the screen was crackling with static.

"That was one of the cameras positioned over Tygrus's enclosure.  I saw you both onscreen before it went out." he remarked.

"So what?  Batteries die." Milo scoffed.

"No batteries; they're hooked up to an electrical outlet." Lance threw in.

"So someone cut the wires?" Wraith asked, trying to keep the excitement out of her voice as she exchanged a glance with both Stitches and Ink.  Had their help come so soon?  It seemed almost too good to be true, but she was willing to hope.

"It would appear so." Dorian responded, making her frown in confusion.  He didn't seem at all bothered by the idea; in fact, if she had to guess, Wraith would have said the man seemed almost intrigued at the thought of an intruder.  Not for the first time she wondered just what sort of aces the older man had hidden up his sleeves.

"Great.  Just great.  Peachy keen," Milo muttered darkly, crossing his arms in anger.

"Lancelot, Tygrus." Dorian said, "I want you both to run the corridors for a moment.  Run the length of the building outside as well, and return to report to me!  Pay attention to anything that seems out of the ordinary!"

The man-cat nodded before turning to the young entrepreneur, who nodded before standing rigid on the spot.  For a moment, Wraith, Ink and Stitches stood confused, until they saw the dark green of Lance's irises begin to bleed over into the rest of his eyes, until the white was almost completely obscured.  His perfectly slicked hair, so neatly kept right down to the three flyaway strands that made up his fringe, began to fly about his head as though shot through with an electric current and seemed to encase him, until his entire body was covered in fur the same shade as his hair.  His face elongated into a muzzle and his mouth filled with sharp teeth as he threw back his head and howled, a long and high song of hunting.  Then, as though they'd done it many times before, Lance and Tygrus rushed from the room, down the hall, and split apart, each taking a different corridor, running with a grace and speed that ought to belong to a pair of dancers, rather than mutants.

"WHOA!  He really _is_ a werewolf!" Wraith gasped, unable to stop herself.  Rook hadn't been kidding!  Suddenly she wasn't sure which of her half-brothers was more dangerous.  Werewolf or not, Lance was a business tycoon, whereas Logann not only had Komodo dragon DNA, but training as well.

"DAYUM!" Stitches said in a raw, stunned voice, having finally wiggled her mouth free of the offending gag.  "That was so cool!"

"A puppy, a birdy and a lizzy…" Ink murmured nearby, an impressed look in her mismatched eyes as a bit of her typical spazziness bubbled back to the surface.  Wraith was about to berate her, when Milo swept past them to shut and lock the door.

"YO!  What's that for?  If you're trying to keep them out, you know that's not going to work." she snapped.  The scientist turned to regard her, a quizzical look in his eye.

" 'Them?'" he asked, "This is for keeping you in, my angel.  Now just who exactly is 'them' and why would we want to keep them out?"

Wraith nearly kicked herself there and then, which was probably the only reason Ink didn't do it for her.

_Me and my big mouth!_

***

Their patrol took around less than ten minutes to complete, but they still could find no signs of the mysterious trespasser.  By the end of it, Tygrus was yowling in frustration and Lance had shifted back to his human form, his normally handsome face twisted with fury.

"Damn it all!  Camera simply do not become disconnected of their own accord!  There must be something we've overlooked!" he snarled.

"But we have…searched everywhere!" Tygrus responded, spreading his paws helplessly.

"Everywhere that was locked," Lance pointed out, "Are there any doors which are usually left unlocked?"

"Yes.  The double doors…in the back.  They are kept unlocked for when shipments of fresh prey for me are delivered."

"Then let us check there." Lance declared firmly.  They turned and started to head that way, when the flare of headlights coming up the path to the laboratory stopped them short.  Two vehicles, one sleek and black with webbed fins, the other an enormous Volkswagen van themed to Alice In Wonderland.  Tygrus hissed, throwing up an arm to shield his sensitive yellow eyes, and Lance scowled his hands balling into fists at his sides.

"Presumptuous of me though this may be," he said slowly, "I do believe us to be looking at a brawl, dear Tygrus."

***

"I'm only going to ask one last time, and then I'm going to have to get forceful about this." Milo was growling in a barely controlled voice, fists clenched at his sides, "Who is coming?"

Stitches shrugged, not knowing or caring.  Ink only smirked and turned her back on him.  Wraith stuck her fingers in her ears and responded childishly with, "La la la la la la laaaaa, I can't heeeeear youuuuuu…."

Dorian was doubled over, clutching his sides, he was chuckling so hard.

"You do realize that strategy won't work, Achilles," he laughed, "You couldn't even muster an ounce of respect from Lancelot, if you tried!"

"Shut up, Dorian!" the younger man snarled, rounding on him, his pale face going red with anger and embarrassment.

"After all you've done to me, you just expect we're going to up and tell you anything?" Wraith spat, laughing darkly, "Pfft!  Yeah, right!  Wake up and smell the chloroform, you freak!"

"Hey look," Ink remarked, looking out the vast window on the opposite end of the room, "Our cavalry has arrived!"

***

The Batmobile pulled up first, parking almost automatically as Batman threw open the roof and leapt up and out, Robin and Incubus taking to the air behind him.  He heard the Mad Hatter's van pull up behind them, but that was of little concern right now.  What had his attention were the man-cat and the young millionaire before him.

Truth to tell, they warranted a little apprehension too, but he would never show that.  Masking emotions was key, something which Lancelot Pendragon obviously had yet to accomplish outside of making business deals, the way his fists were clenched and the scowl on his face was deepening.  Tygrus too, was snarling and glaring, though doubtless the man-cat remembered him.

"I didn't expect to see you here, Lancelot Pendragon." Batman remarked carefully as he approached the two.  "Given your past history with Dorian and Milo, I am amazed that you would even hand your younger sister over to them."

The emerald eyes glittered dangerously, and Batman realized with a cold dread he was toeing a very thin line indeed.

"So.  Zeus has told you everything, has he?" he said in a tight voice.  Batman nodded, and he went on, "Then surely you know of the technology in our brains?  Yes?  Then you should know that I am in service to both men, against my will.  Resisting an order is futile; even were I to throw my entire will against it, my body would still obey, even if my mind protested."

Batman's eyes narrowed, and he felt a surge of pity for the three mutants.  He had considered Dorian and Milo both to be sick men previously, but this really put the icing on the matter.

"Is there no way the technology can be shut off without killing any of you?" he asked.  Incubus hadn't known, but perhaps, since he was closer to the scientists, Pendragon would be privy to vital information.

"Yes, actually." Lancelot replied without hesitation, and Batman heard indrawn breath behind him; he didn't need to turn around to know that the Rouges had arrived and heard this, or that Incubus was even startled to learn about this.

"Lance," Tygrus said warily, putting a paw-like hand on the young man's shoulder, but he merely was waved off.

"Do not worry.  These are not our enemies." the werewolf answered gently.

"That's what you think, Pendragon." Batman heard Incubus mutter behind him, most likely gripping his pimp cane in white-knuckled anger.

"I heard that, lizard," Lancelot spat before meeting Batman's eyes, those emerald chips of ice regarding him skeptically.  Finally he said, "Langstrom."

"Langstrom?" Robin repeated in surprise.

"Langstrom is the key," Lance answered, "He, and he alone, knows the verbal command password to shut off the technology without killing us."

"So you tried to kill him when you didn't get it!" Incubus snarled in anger, taking a step forward, only to be held back by a spiked black glove.

"Yes…and no," came the cool response.  "Milo wished me to kill Langstrom so the knowledge would die with him and Guenhivyre would never be free.  However, despite the amount of hacking he did to gain access to my neurochip, Milo underestimated the strength of the connection between Dorian and myself.  That was cultivated over time, and despite the orders that idiot gave me, Dorian overrode them.  He wanted me to frighten Langstrom into giving up the password, but not kill him."

Batman listened carefully, his worst fears confirmed.  Langstrom had always been dangerous before, owing to his trouble resisting the temptation of his Man-Bat formula, but now it seemed he was, figuratively, a nuclear weapon being battled over.

"I _would_ have succeeded," the werewolf went on in scathing tones, "Had not a certain reptile interfered."

"HA!  You wouldn't be half so cocky if I had Croc with me!" Incubus snapped pointing the pimp cane at him as though it were a sword.

"Because there's nothing near so intimidating as a walking handbag." Lancelot said sarcastically.

Batman could feel the muscles in Incubus's shoulder tighten, even through his Kevlar and the boy's leather.  Apparently, Langstrom was more important to him than he'd first let on.  Then again, considering that Maximillion Zeus probably hadn't been in his life often, Batman wouldn't put it past Incubus to have started looking at the scientist in a fatherly light.  As for his relationship with Killer Croc… "birds of a feather," was often the term used, though in his case "lizards of a scale" would perhaps be more suited.

"We're going to get in there," Batman said in a voice of command, "And we are going to free your sister and her friends.  You have no reason to prevent us."

"I won't let you hurt Father!" Tygrus suddenly growled, stepping forward, the fur on his hackles raising.  "I could care less…about Milo!  But I won't let you hurt Father!"

"I am afraid that I too, do not wish any harm to come to Dorian." Lancelot said firmly, beginning to shift back to his werewolf form, catching most of the Rogues off-guard.

"Allow me, Bats." he heard Incubus say in a cocky voice, and before he could stop the boy, he brought the cane's butt end to the ground.  Three times he struck the cane against the ground, three high-pitched blasts of sound reverberated in the air around them.  "Ladies, swarm the man-cat."

Like puppets on strings, all of them—Trick Deck, Banshee, Magpie, Erin Knightly—surged forward and rushed at Tygrus, catching all by surprise, including themselves.  And the man-cat went down in a confused tangle of fur and colorful hair.

"Your cane can control women?!" Robin blurted out in surprise.

"Why do you think they call me Incubus?" he chuckled.

"Infidel!" the werewolf snarled, charging at them.

They attacked in near-perfect unison.  Batman and Robin stepped back as Incubus, the Riddler, and the Scarecrow came at Lance, raising cane, sickle, and hook to meet fang and claw.  Scarecrow lashed out with his sickle, slicing a neat line fur but drawing no blood, before darting off to the side, allowing Incubus to slide in, spinning his pimp cane like a drill team baton before bringing it up to smack Lance's side.  The werewolf growled in annoyance as the top of the cane connected with his shoulder, and he shoved the young vigilante off to the side as the Riddler rushed at him, snarling in fury, raising his question-mark hooks high above his head.  Magpie screamed for him to be careful, but Lance spun at the last second, whipping out with his tail and smacking the thin man aside.  Batman had been prepared for this eventuality however, and took advantage of the werewolf leaving his back open, jumping high into the air, cape billowing behind him like the wings of his namesake as he brought both feet down hard on the mutant's back.  Lance bellowed in pain, and Tygrus squirmed under the girls, tail thrashing as he yowled for his friend.

"ROBIN!  NOW!" Batman shouted, and the Boy Wonder wasted no time.  He drew a long cable from his belt and tied Lance's legs together, as Batman did the same with the werewolf's front paws.  Incubus, having been given a similar cable, regained his breath and ran to the girls, where they assisted him in trussing up the panther-man in a like fashion.

"Wh-what is this?!" Lance demanded, struggling against his bindings.

"Titanium Bat-restraints.  Can't leave home without 'em." Robin remarked.

It was at this point that Incubus tapped his cane against the ground again, releasing his control over the girls and apologizing.

"Right.  Tetch, Knightly, Cook!  You three stay out here and keep an eye on them!" Batman ordered.

"You mean, _I'll_ be keeping an eye on them." Magpie muttered, throwing a dark look Jervis and Erin's way.  The couple looked at her innocently as they sat on Tygrus, who was still thrashing, though with less enthusiasm.

"The rest of you, try to keep up.  We need to find Pendragon and get her out of here!" Batman said, rushing toward the doors with Robin and Incubus at his heels.  The Riddler and the Scarecrow followed almost immediately, and Trick Deck and Banshee exchanged a look and curt nod before bringing up the rear.  Magpie sat rather unceremoniously on Lance, who yelped in protest and wriggled beneath her.

However, it became apparent that she and the other two weren't planning on budging any time soon, and Lance was left to ponder just how he could work their sympathy to his advantage.

***

"You do realize, of course," Dorian was saying carefully, "That no matter what measures you try to take, the Batman _will_ break through them."

"BAH!  He's only human!  He can't possibly—"

"You're forgetting they've more than him with them, Achilles."

Wraith, Ink, and Stitches watched the two scientists argue for a while, and the only real astonishing thing about the conversation was Milo seemed incapable of interrupting Dorian when he spoke, as though he too, was mesmerized by the older man's voice.  At one point, they heard something in the lab give a loud, piercing cry of pain, and Dorian looked up, blinking in surprise.

"Hmm.  It seems they bested Garth.  I suppose I ought to have warned him first." he remarked in a voice completely devoid of concern or sympathy.

"You're a sick, heartless bastard, you know that?" Wraith growled.

"You don't do me justice, my dear." he answered unconcernedly.

Several explosions were heard, followed by rapid gunfire.

"Trick Deck's exploding dice!" Ink said, a relieved smile coming over her features.

"I'd know the sound of Banshee's Uzis anywhere…" Stitches murmured.

"Impossible!" Milo gasped, "How did they get past Lancelot and Tygrus?!"

As if in answer, they heard gunfire again, right outside the door, and the girls managed to duck just as the door exploded, fragments of the wood raining down upon their heads like a strange parody of rain.  When the smoke cleared, they saw the silhouette of Trick Deck, crouched with more of her dice spread between her fingers, Banshee at her back, guns raised and pointed toward the ceiling.

"Same way we're gonna get past you, honey," the strawberry-blonde replied, "Carefully."

"May!  Akira!  Eddy!  Jonathan!" Ink cried in joy as the girls entered, flanked by the Scarecrow and the Riddler.

"The game's up, you two." Batman growled at the scientists as he entered, eyes narrowed.  "Let them go."

"Ahh, Batman.  Pleasant to see you, as ever." Dorian spoke as though they were old friends sitting down for a luncheon, standing at ease and leaning on his cane as he smiled.

"And what makes you think we're just going to give in to this ludicrous demand?" Milo snapped, only to have the Scarecrow surge forward and thrust the sickle before him, the thin blade cutting through the air just in front of the scientist's hooked nose with a sinister hiss.

"You've taken my understudy and my friend hostage." he said coolly, his eyes flicking briefly but with a significant weight toward Wraith and Ink.  "I don't take kindly to such barbarian behavior."

"And what makes you think," the Riddler threw in, striding forward and thrusting the points of his hooks beneath Milo's chin, "I would just let you get off scot-free after everything you've done to Guenhivyre?"

"Oooh, does Riddly have a soft spot?" Milo mocked him with a sneer, dark eyes flashing.  "Let's see how we can work that around.  Wraith, attack him!"

It was like someone had tied puppet strings to her arms and legs, because before she could stop herself, her scythe was in her hands, unfolded, and she was shuffling with a pleasant buzz in her head toward the men, her green eyes focused on the Riddler, who was staring at her in shock.

It didn't make sense.  Riddler was her friend, and Guen's friend too.  Why was he suddenly her enemy?

The buzzing in her head paused, and she pulled up short, staring at them.  Milo glared at her over his shoulder, his face twisted by an ugly sneer.

"What are you waiting for?  Attack him, Wraith!  He's threatening me!" he snarled, and her arms started to raise the scythe again.

_Don't listen to him, Wraith!  Don't listen!  He may control me, but he can't make you obey!_ Guen was shouting to her somewhere in the back of her mind.   _Pull it together!  He has Jervis's technology around our neck, trying to control you with it!_ Jervis's _technology!_

That, more than anything, was what snapped her back to reality.

"NO ONE TELLS WRAITH WHO TO KILL," she roared, turning on the scientist, raising her scythe high, "AND NO ONE PUTS THE MAD HATTER'S CARDS ON ME!!!"

But before she could bash his head in, two strong hands gripped her scythe and forced her to lower it slowly.

"Calm down, Miss Pendragon!" Batman commanded, his voice more menacing than anything she'd ever heard before.

"Do you have any idea—"

"I DO!  And I'm ordering you to stop, before you have blood on your hands and you've passed the point of no return!  You can end this madness here, Miss Pendragon!"

And for a moment, everything was still.

Absolutely still.

Then, very slowly, as though it took the vast effort of some inner will, Wraith lowered her scythe, wings rustling softly.  She took a step backward, releasing a heavy sigh as Ink gently approached her and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"It's okay, Guennie." she murmured quietly, "You did the right thing."

Wraith didn't stop looking at Milo, not entirely convinced Ink was accurate, given the way those dark eyes burned at her.

"Ink is right," Batman said firmly, and when Wraith looked over her shoulder at him, he gave her an approving nod.  "However hard this may feel."

Even the Riddler gave her a weak smile as he approached her.  For a moment he looked like he too, wished to say something, but instead he folded his arms around her, pulling her in a tight hug against him, making her heart flutter at the contact.

"I still say we take a bit off the top," Banshee growled, glaring at Milo, "Just in case.  If Scarecrow will do the honors?"

"No!" Batman ordered sharply, making her and the other girls pout.

"You could always shoot him full of your fear toxins," Dorian spoke up suddenly, startling them all.

"Don't get too cocky, Dorian!" Batman snapped, "You're going to return to your cell in Stonegate for breaking out."

But the scientist merely continued to stand next to the computer, smiling indulgently as he pressed a sequence of buttons on the keyboard and answered, "No, I don't believe so."

Robin, Stitches and Trick Deck rushed at him, but they were all too late as the computer station and Dorian spun into the wall on a hidden track, another computer identical to the first being rotated back out.

"Hurry!  Perhaps if we can figure out the sequence—" the Riddler started, releasing Wraith.

"Too late.  We'll have to catch him later." Batman answered with a shake of his head.  "Besides, we'd best be going."  He pulled another Bat-restraint cable from his utility belt and tossed it to Banshee and Trick Deck.  "Tie Professor Milo up as tight as you like.  Ink, I want you to keep an eye on him."

Achilles Milo stared between the girls, his eyes finally resting on Ink, who was giving him her most menacing signature death glare, and gulped loudly.

***

"But it's the principle of the thing that you have to understand!" Jervis was saying, throwing his hands up in exasperation.  He and Erin, for the better part of the ten minutes which they'd spent sitting on a giant panther-man while all the others were inside having a grand time, had been trying to convince Magpie why exactly she ought to take up reading Lewis Carroll's work.  The pink-haired thief threw up her hand to forestall him from speaking further.

"Look Jerv, cheers, but I'm just not interested." she answered, quite bored having to listen to the lunatics rant and rave while baby-sitting—literally!—a walking throw rug.  Perhaps the only upside to her current situation, irritated as she was, was only that Lancelot Pendragon had ceased struggling underneath her.

Suddenly, Tygrus's ears pricked up, and he shot up to an awkward position that involved him standing on his knees while resting his hands on the ground.  He yowled strangely, as though answering a call, and pulled the cables off with his teeth and tail, dashing away before Erin, Jervis, and Vanessa could do much more than blink in astonishment.

"Dorian." Lance spoke up, startling them.

"Who?" they asked.

"Dorian," Lance explained, "He's calling us.  I must go to him.  I think he's injured."

The three exchanged skeptical looks; they'd not been able to stop the man-cat from escaping, but they weren't going to just let the werewolf get away.

"Please, I must go to him." he pleaded with them, staring at them with large green eyes.  Jervis however, put his foot down.

"Sorry, old boy.  Not going to happen."

"Miss Cook, Miss Knightly." Lance ignored the Englishman, trying one last desperate attempt, "Please.  You are friends of my little sister, are you not?  Then please set me free.  I must help Dorian!  Surely you cannot believe that I wished harm to come to Guenhivyre?"

The girls exchanged a look.  He seemed sincere enough, but…

"I'm sorry," Erin shook her head, "But what Jervis says, goes."

"Not for me, it doesn't!" Magpie snorted, tugging the loose tie of the cable and letting it fall.

"Cook, what have you done?!" Jervis cried.

But Lance was already disappearing into the night, sounding a howl of freedom.

***

"Guess this just isn't your lucky day, huh Professor?" Robin chuckled.

"Zip it, Boy Blunder!" Milo snarled at him, only to be prodded sharply in the back by Ink.

"Less talking, more walking, bowlcut!" she and the girls snapped in unison before giggling that they'd jinxed each other.

"You do of course, realize that you're going to be placed in Arkham with the rest of us once Batman turns us in to the police." Riddler remarked casually, and Guenhivyre Pendragon nodded as Wraith retreated back into the recesses of their mind.

"I knew that from the second I helped Dr. Crane escape." she murmured quietly.  Then she addressed the Scarecrow, "Which I've been meaning to talk to you about, Dr. Crane."

"Then speak." he replied coolly as they approached the catwalk above Tygrus's enclosure.

"I appreciate that you've helped me to get started, but sooner or later…well, a bird's got to leave its nest right?  If you'll pardon the bad pun." she said.

"Are you quite sure you're ready to go freelance?" he asked, the folds of his burlap mask increasing as he raised an eyebrow at her.

"Well, it's just not working out.  You're not happy with me as an understudy, and Wraith doesn't really like you as a mentor.  Don't think I don't appreciate what you've done for me!  I do, I really do!  But…I think Ink makes you happier, if anyone." she said, throwing a grin at the blonde girl that made her blush gray-black and look away, though she was smiling happily.

"Th-this isn't about that!" the Scarecrow spluttered, throwing his hands up exasperatedly.  "This is about whether you're ready or not!"

"Admit it, Dr. Crane.  I drive you up a wall." Guen said placidly.  "It's better for all of us if we sever ties.  Besides, I got an offer for a job, and I plan on looking into it."

"You all realize of course," Batman growled as they started crossing the catwalk, "That I can hear every word you're saying."

"You're implying that should concern us, Bats." Trick Deck said in an off-hand, too-casual voice, causing the dynamic duo to exchange long-suffering expressions.

"Very well, Guenhivyre." the Scarecrow said with a sigh.  "Though I have to admit, I've gotten used to having you and Inky around to keep things lively at the lab."

"And that's supposed to mean what?" she asked, chuckling.

"…Twitch is going to miss you." he answered in an irritated voice, staring determinedly ahead.

"Aww, I'll still come back to visit you guys!  Besides, I don't know where Ink's apartment is yet, so I'll have to go to the lab to connect with you all anyway!" she said with a laugh, patting his shoulder, then added in an undertone, "Plus it's a good place to throw a party, with all that space."

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that." he muttered darkly, rolling his eyes before moving to walk beside Ink.

"Guen," the Riddler said softly, making electricity race up and down her spine, "All things considered, I wish to talk to you…about our relationship."

She looked up at him, staring into eyes hidden behind his domino mask, and tried to ignore Milo when he turned to glare at them so fast they heard his neck crick.

"Wh-what about it, Eddy?" she whispered.

"Surely you must have guessed my feelings for you by now." he began slowly.  "Would I be incorrect in stating I believe you reciprocate those feelings?"

This statement caught the attention of the girls as well, who suddenly were as interested in the conversation as sharks smelling blood.  They watched with wide eyes and bated breath, slowing down in their march over the catwalk.  Guen swallowed over the lump in her throat.  She couldn't deny the truth, no matter how much she didn't want to hurt Vanessa.

"No, you're right." she whispered.

"Guenhivyre…" the Riddler sighed, reaching for one of her hands, interlocking their fingers.  
The lapse in the girls's concentration was all he needed at this point and Milo flung himself at them, driving his arm against the Riddler and knocking him over the edge of the catwalk before the girls tackled him again and bound him with Ink's ink.

Time seemed to slow before Guen's eyes as she watched Edward Nygma go over, his eyes wide with shock and fear.  Throwing caution to the wind, she leapt above the railing, opening her wings, releasing her scythe as she seized one of his hands with hers and grabbed the railing.

"Guen!" the Riddler gasped hoarsely, looking at her in surprise.  She could only groan in response.  The Riddler was stick-thin for sure, but he was still taller and heavier than her, and the strain on her arm was almost more than she could bear.  Her wings beat frantically and her grip on the railing began to slip—

But a black, Kevlar gloved hand seized her arm before she could lose her grip and Batman began to haul both her and the Riddler back up.

"Quick thinking, Miss Pendragon," he said in his gravely voice, "But not quick enough."

"Can you never just give a compliment and let it be that?" Robin muttered.

"H-here," Guen helped him pull Eddy up first, and she started to climb over before she realized something.  "My scythe!"

"Leave it," Batman ordered, seizing both her arms before she could look back down.

"But—but—it—" she tried to protest, glancing down, hoping for some glint of the crescent blade among the trees.

"I said leave it!" he snapped.  "It's not worth your life!"

But even as they began to march out, even as they met up with Incubus, who'd collared Garth, even as they got out to Erin, Jervis, and Magpie, she continued to look back at the laboratory, unable to erase the strange, heavy sense of loss she felt.

She'd had the scythe since the beginning.  It was her weapon, her symbol, the object with which she'd shown everyone she wasn't just a little girl playing dress-up, but a force to be reckoned with.  It had become as much a part of her as Wraith had.  Without it…she looked at her empty hands, feeling a hollow pit growing in her stomach.

_Where do we go from here?_ she asked, half-hoping Wraith would respond.

She did, sending back a wave of dark fear that would have made the Scarecrow jump with glee.  She too, mourned the loss of the scythe.  Without it, they were helpless.

Without the scythe, she and Guen couldn't defend themselves if Milo broke out of Stonegate and came after them again…


	25. Epilogue: Daddy Fearest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've somehow made it all the way through this, I really applaud you and I am so sorry. I promise I'll have the meta posted for this fic soon.  
> That being said, thanks for sticking through to the end of this, my first fic after years of being told I couldn't write to save my life and should just give up.

Clio had left earlier in the day, to visit her cousin, and Logann was out as Incubus, meeting the Batman for Lord-knew-what reasons.  The lights were all off save for the one on the nightstand next to the couch, where the remote was lying within reach of her fingers.  Growling in frustration, she grabbed the remote and flipped through the channels, more to preoccupy herself than out of any real desire to watch something.  This had been her life for the past week since she'd escaped from the laboratory, confined within Clio's little apartment, unable to step foot outside.  Two messengers had arrived for her: the first was Rook, trying to get in contact with her on Erin Knightly's behalf.  The second was an irritable blonde man with his hair in a long, curly ponytail who introduced himself as Lance's butler- _cum_ -secretary, Gerard Montaine.

She'd sent both of them away almost immediately.  She didn't want to talk to anyone, didn't want anybody to see how small and frightened she felt after the loss of her scythe.  It was stupid, really.  But all the same, she couldn't help it.

_No doubt sooner or later I'm going to get a message from Ink berating me about this.  I wonder how she and Jonathan are—Hello, what's this?_

She stopped on the news, where Summer Gleeson was standing outside of a courthouse, talking at a rapid-fire pace to the audience, and turned up the volume.

"—despite his involvement with the mutant incident last week, the courts have released Professor Achilles Milo on probation." Summer said over a click in the background as the doors on-screen behind her opened to admit a crowd of people.  And indeed, Milo was walking out, several reporters in his carefully placid face as he shoved his hands in his pockets, dark eyes flashing.  She shivered and watched his progress before the rest of Summer's words started registering.

"It has been rumored that Roland Daggett, the same man who paid Milo's bail, was the figure in fact responsible for the mutant-weapon project."

A figure's face was shown in the top corner of the screen, a middle-aged, redheaded man with a receding hairline and the face of a business shark.  He looked familiar, and almost at once, Wraith took over for Guen, clenching the remote in fury.

_We saw him!  He was there, at the museum when you stole the dragon box!_ she heard Guen say in shock.

_You're right,_ Wraith agreed, _And the worst part was that he recognized our face._  
She glared at the image of Daggett on the screen, wishing he'd drop dead.

_You're the one responsible for doing this to us.  You'd better watch your back, Daggett.  Because I'm a ghost with a vendetta._

_But the scythe—!_ Guen protested, and Wraith felt her bluster falter.

Without the scythe, they were nothing.

Summer focused on Milo again, this time directly asking him a question, and he paused before answering, staring at the camera with blazing dark eyes, as though he could see her where she sat.  Shuddering, she lifted the remote and turned the television off, silence filling the room, save for the sound of breathing, and for a moment, she did nothing.

"Well." Wraith said at last, fighting to keep her voice neutral.  "You gonna say something or what?"

There was a pause, and then a gravelly voice replied, "Half of me thinks you want to jump his bones."

"Gross," she remarked, standing and turning to face the door, where the figure was just part of the shadows, "And the other half?"

"Thinks you want to run him over with a tank."

She grinned at that.  "Something to that extent.  So what are you doing here?"

"You haven't forgotten my offer, have you, kid?"

"No," she answered, fighting the urge to become indignant at his use of the word "kid."  She waited for him to say something, but instead she heard the rush of displaced air and raised her arm, catching the thrown object just before it hit her in the face.

"Can't exactly take me up on it without a way to protect yourself, can you?"

"My scythe!" she gasped upon recognizing it.  "But how did you find it?!"

"You dropped it at the lab when you saved Eddy Nygma.  You two going steady?"

"Not at the moment, no." Wraith bit the inside of her cheek when she realized she was blushing at the suggestion.  "I'm taking some time away to work out my feelings for him."  More to change the subject than because she was interested, she opened the scythe with its switchblade click, and stared, stunned.

He'd not just found the scythe, he'd had it fixed!

The blade was polished smooth, no longer showing any signs of wear and tear, gleaming wickedly as the silver crescent shape sliced through the air with ease.  Slowly she began to rotate it, only to be surprised further.

He'd also added to it, the other side of the blade now a deep, obsidian black.

"No way," she gasped, her eyes going wide.

"Like your color scheme," he said in that scratchy voice, "Black on silver.  You know, you ought to work that a little more.  Perhaps dye half your hair silver."

She chuckled.  "You flatter me.  So would that be my color scheme if I take up with you?  Black and silver, since you called white?"

"Preferably," he answered, "But I won't impose on your identity too much.  You gotta build a rep, and you're off to an okay start.  Just rework the colors; you can keep the ghost theme."

"Thanks," Wraith said, "I appreciate that.  So you're serious about this whole family kind of thing?"

"I told you I liked you, didn't I?  You remind me of myself, in several ways."

"So this is for real?  No strings attached?" she asked, arching an eyebrow as she grinned, "You know, we're both taking a risk on that.  How do I know you won't…double-cross me?"

"Like I said, kid, I like you…"

Two-Face stepped into the light, holding his coin before him so she could see it clearly, as his scarred face twisted in the semblance of what was once probably a handsome smile.

"And that's something I _don't_ gotta flip on."


End file.
